crash&burn
by secretsofgray
Summary: It's funny how one stupid mistake can ruin everything - Naruto's half dead, Sasuke's half a killer, and Sakura's trying desperately to not lose her boys.
1. eject

**PREAMBLE: Angsty to-be Three-Shot is Angsty. Will concern Sasuke, Naruto and Sakura. **

**Disclaimer: Disclaimed.**

**Summary Proper: One night, one car crash, and one loss. Tallied up, it might be enough to get Sasuke to control his growing alcoholism. But it might be too little, too late. **

**M for language and themes of death. **

**Warnings: Angst up the whazoo. **

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_No…no…this can't be happening, this isn't happening, it ISN'T HAPPENING….! _

The tiled floor beneath his bare feet is cold. The walls are white. His ears are ringing and he's crying. There's a weight on his chest and he's confused, disoriented, scared. There are doctors and nurses rushing about him, and then he's led to another room, white, white, white, and there's a woman standing next to him. She's talking, asking for contact information, and maybe Sasuke answers and maybe he didn't but he's too shocked, too scared, to damn _drunk_ to focus. Then there's a sharp pain at his temple, and someone's talking again, and there's more rushing and beeping and _noise – _

Before Sasuke blacks out, he has one more coherent thought:

_Itachi's going to kill me._

.

.

.

When Sasuke wakes, he's hooked up to an IV. There's a flash of panic – why the _fuck_ is there a needle in his arm? -and he screams. This is his how he discovers that his voice is hoarse, his throat raw, his mouth dry.

A nurse rushes in, tries to make him drink some water. Sasuke waits until she takes the IV out; he takes the proffered cup, sips it, all very civil. Then he throws it at her and fucking _books _it out the room and down the hall.

She might be calling after him – she might not be – but he follows the signs on the walls best he can at his break-neck pace, and he rushes up to what looks like the front desk and demands to know where Naruto Uzumaki is.

This is how the nurse finds him: hands slammed down onto the desktop, looming over the intern, and screaming bloody murder. In Sasuke's frantic mind, however, he's being relatively calm given that _his best fucking friend could be dead and this bitch wasn't helping him at fucking _all.

The nurse tries – and fails – to pry him from the desk. Sasuke is tall for his age, and, though whipcord-lean, not an easy person to physically best.

Even in his current state.

"What is going on?" A blonde woman in a white labcoat demands sharply as she comes into view. She is a stern woman, looks younger than she probably is. Her hair is held back in two pig tails, and she has a no-nonsense air about her that's reminiscent of a school principal.

Sasuke turns toward her in one swift motion, effectively throwing the nurse off him. "Doctor!" she cries, "He's –"

"_Where_ is Naruto Uzumaki?" Sasuke demands. At her blank look, he elaborates. "Blond, skinny as hell, sixteen but looks _twelve –_"

"The young man that arrived with you?"

"_Yes._"

The doctor purses her lips. Sasuke is growing impatient, and it takes her too long to answer. "Follow me."

The nurse protests. "But Doctor Senju, the boy is in – "

She is silenced with a sharp look. "Perhaps _he_ can provide some information. You," she addresses Sasuke, "Come."

And Sasuke does. The sound of her red heels _clack-clacking_ on the linoleum floor is the only noise for a while, then, once on an elevator, she jams the button and says, "According to the – what I assume – fake ID you had, your name is Sasuke Uchiha. Am I correct?"

Sasuke's answer comes through gritted teeth. "Yes."

She nods. "Your brother has been notified and is on his way. However, you managed to cause _quite_ the traffic jam. There's a suspected two-hour delay. As for your companion –"

"Naruto Uzumaki. You're going to have to contact his godfather, his –"

"I already did. Sasuke," she says, eyes narrowed, "Do you know what the legal blood-alcohol content for a driver in this region is?"

Sasuke was silent, because you know what he _knew, _he _knew_ but he wasn't about to give this bitch the satisfaction of an answer.

"Point-zero-eight," she fills in, voice clipped. "Do you know what your BAC was?"

"..."

"Point-two-six. Do you know what that means?"

He can't help the sarcasm. "I was really fucking drunk?"

"You're lucky to be alive."

Sasuke grits his teeth and clenches his fists. "Where's Naruto?"

The elevator _dings! _and she leads him out. "This way."

But Sasuke notices something.

They're not in the lobby, or the waiting room, or even the fucking OR ward.

It's the ICU.

_Fuck._

The word doesn't seem to properly encompass the dread he's feeling right now. The feeling in his stomach – the sheer _anxiety,_ coupled with desperation and helplessness and made worse by a single shred of hope.

Sasuke thinks he's going to be sick.

.

.

.

The room is white, white, white. There's the heart monitor – the one that beeps – and it's going steady. There's an IV, and more machines, and a bed, and in that bed is Naruto Uzumaki. Blood mats his yellow hair and scratches cover his face. He's hooked up to oxygen and draped in wires, and this time Sasuke actually _is_ sick. He heaves up everything in his stomach, and when he's done he tries to hack up the dismay, the dread, the fucking _guilt_ but he can't, he _can't._ And now he's crying and the doctor – merciless dragon-lady that she is – is hauling him up by his shirt collar.

It should have been him. It should have been _him. _ He was the unlucky one, he was the distraction, he was the fucking _drunk_ without a _seatbelt._

"_That should be me,_" he think-speaks, sobbing. "_I SHOULD BE FUCKING DEAD, NOT HIM!"_

"Sasuke. Sasuke. _SASUKE!_"

The doctor – merciless dragon-lady that she is – forces him to sit down and hands him a plastic cup of water. _"Drink._"

It takes him three tries, but he finally manages to swallow it. It tastes _nasty _as _hell,_ but it gives him something to do. He's no more calmed down, though.

He – Uchiha Sasuke, phlegmatic, unflappable Sasuke – is _shaking._

He sits on his hands to make them stop, but his knees only start up again.

"Sasuke," the doctor says, and Sasuke gets the impression that she's been trying to get his attention for a while now, "Answer me honestly: Were you the driver."

And Sasuke, the sick fuck that he is, starts _laughing._

Because that's the funny part, isn't it? He _wasn't_ the driver. Naruto wouldn't _let_ him drive. He'd been unbuckled, in the passenger seat, drunk as a skunk – _and he was the one who was okay._

"Irony," he finds himself saying, "Is a bitch."

The doctor manages to look sharp and quizzical at the same time. Sasuke finds this funny too, and he laughs. "You – you see, Naruto's the lucky one, right? And he was sober, and driving, had his seat belt on, following all the rules like a good boy. Tell me, Doctor, did you find out _his_ blood alcohol content? It was zero, wasn't it? He never liked me drinking. But he drove me home, anyway – and – and now he's _dead,_ he's _dead_ isn't he? He's going to die because of me, because _I'm_ such a fuck-up, _but it should be me! It should've been me, not him the bastard!"_

The doctor purses her lips. "Are you _sure?"_

Sasuke glares up at her through his bangs, eyes red and puffy. "Of _course_ I'm fucking sure," he snarls. "I was drunk, not _stupid._"

"You still are drunk, by my count," she quipped, picking up a clipboard. "The accident happened two…three hours ago. Are you going to ask me about his condition? Or yours, for that matter?"

It's all Sasuke can do to not rip the bitch's throat out. "_Well?"_ he growls.

"_You_ suffered minor head trauma and a sprained wrist; I suspect that the painkillers are working, given how you've upset the staff. You're covered in bruises, too, though I suspect that's a given. We had to pump your stomach so we could _give_ you the painkillers, and if it turns out you were the driver, you're facing criminal charges. You're friend, on the other hand, has suffered severe brain trauma and has broken his ribs, which in turn punctured his left lung. He's bleeding internally from several organs; should he regain consciousness within the next twenty-four hours, he'll be put in a medically-induced coma."

_Trauma…punctured lung…coma…_ "He won't be playing soccer anytime soon," Sasuke says profoundly. The doctor gives him a look that could only be described as _nasty._

Sasuke is feeling bad – he's feeling _terrible, _like _fuck-all,_ and all he can think of his how he's going to have to atone for this. He needs to make it up to Naruto, somehow. "Can you do that to me?"

She narrows her eyes. "Do what?"

"What happened to him. Do it to me. "

Tsunade is giving him a strange look. "Whatever gave you the idea…?"

"It's only fair," Sasuke tells her. There's an incessant pounding behind his eyeballs, so he shuts them. "Now I'm blind. You've made me blind, haven't you, doctor?"

"Sasuke, I think it's best for you to lie down," she says, but Sasuke's head has already collected with the floor.

.

.

.

"Tsunade," one of the nurses whispers as the boy is being transported back to his room on a gurney, "That was…highly unorthodox. Especially given the boy's condition…"

Tsunade sighs. She knows. "That was the only thing that was going to calm down. And we need a statement from the police. Who _knows_ what he's going to be like when he's awake."

_Or when he's going to wake,_ she thinks to herself. That dose of oral anesthesia – the kind given to child-patients before surgery –was obviously taking affect.

The nurse bites her lip. "Even so, he could've lied."

Here Tsunade shakes her head. "He was so doped up on painkillers, I'm surprised he woke up. Must be shock. But…" here she looks at Naruto. "Look at the injuries on Naruto's hands."

The nurse doesn't need to ask what Tsunade meant. Injuries like that were the telltales signs of an airbag being activated when one was clutching the steering wheel.

Think what you will of Mr. Uchiha, the nurse muses, but at least he was telling the truth.

.

.

.

When Sasuke next wakes, he can tell it's daylight. He's been moved to a private room, and he's no longer hooked up to an IV.

His brother is sitting on the chair by his bedside, hands folded in his lap and staring at him.

_Itachi!_ Sasuke tries to speak, but his mouth his dry and his voice is hoarse. Before he can even react, Itachi is on him, gripping Sasuke by the jaw and forcing him to look Itachi dead in the eye.

His brother wasn't a big man. He was tall and slender, a bookish type – but in that moment, he looked positively _dangerous. _

"Answer yes or no," he says in a clipped voice, carefully enunciating every wordy, "_Were you driving the car?"_

"No," Sasuke rasps. Itachi frowns and tightens his grip. "Are you sure? Are you _positive_ of that, Sasuke?"

He shoves Itachi _off_ him. _"I wasn't fucking driving!"_ Sasuke shouts even though it hurts. He can't help but getting a feeling of Déjà vu as Itachi, placated for the moment, nods and sits back. Itachi offers Sasuke a bottle of water, which he takes gratefully.

Unlike the bitchy-dragon-lady doctor, however, Itachi has reason for questioning Sasuke, though Sasuke wishes that his brother had greater faith in him.

Sasuke scowls at his brother. "Well?"

Itachi arches one fine eyebrow. "Well, what?"

_He's going to make me say it. _"Naruto."

Itachi looks at his brother, then sighs. "The boy is…stable."

_Stable. Not 'good' not 'better,' not even 'alive.' _Stable.

Suddenly, Sasuke feel sick. He feels himself heave, but there's nothing in his stomach but a mouthful of water. He can feel disappointment rolling off Itachi in _waves,_ and that disappointment fills the room, threatens to suffocate Sasuke.

Because Itachi knew that Sasuke had a problem. But Itachi let it be, mildly disapproving from a distance, because Sasuke knew _better_ than to drive drunk, knew better than to drink before a game, was _smarter_ than that.

Being smart sucks, Sasuke concludes bleakly. When you were smart, you weren't allowed to make the normal teenage mistakes – because you _knew better._ You were too smart not to try this, or do that, or go there. Everyone assumed you were omniscient just because you knew what omniscient _meant._

_Just because I'm smart doesn't mean I always make smart choices._

Sasuke is, in fact, only human.

Just a boy, really.

.

.

.

Itachi was seventeen when he killed his parents.

There was this party, right? It was a Christmas party, hosted by one of his father's business partners. It would be in bad form not to show up.

Itachi accompanied his parents. He was, after all, almost eighteen and was friends with the son of the man hosting the party.

Sasuke – eleven at the time – stayed over Naruto's.

His parents both wound up drinking more than they should have – more than was safe to drive, at any rate. It was an easy mistake – his father was under the impression that his mother would be driving. His mother had thought that his father would be the designated driver.

This was how Itachi – not-yet-eighteen, fresh off the permit Itachi – was made Designated Driver.

But there are a few things that Mr. and Mrs. Uchiha didn't take into consideration. One of them was the notion that Itachi would be drinking.

Which, on the part of the parents, was awfully naïve. A seventeen year old? Bored at a party with other seventeen year olds? And an open, private bar? Not even bothering to ask him if he was in condition to drive?

Well. It _would_ be awfully embarrassing _not_ to be able to drive home – what kind of message did that send?

Itachi – though much more sober than his parents – was still in no condition to drive. It was raining heavily, for one, and past his legal curfew, for another. But, the dutiful son he was, didn't say anything.

It had been a freak accident. The other driver was drunk. The car had hydroplaned. Itachi was more than a little buzzed.

His parents hadn't been wearing seat belts.

They died on impact.

Their eldest son had sustained moderate injuries and was rushed to the ER.

He was told the fate of his parents by a nurse.

Their younger son was safe at a friend's house.

He got a phone call.

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.

.

So Sasuke knows. He _knows_ better than to drive drunk – partly because he's not a fucking idiot and partly because he can't do that to his brother and partly because what his brother would do to _him_ if he ever found out.

But that doesn't stop Sasuke from drinking.

Nothing, it seems, can stop Sasuke from drinking.

_Look at you,_ he can hear Them say. _Seventeen and already an alcoholic. _

Naruto would humor him, because they were best friends and best friends stuck together, right? And Sasuke would pretend not to see the pain on his face, because, _idiot,_ do you see what you're doing to yourself? What you're becoming?

Sakura was there for the aftermath. She'd try her best to avoid the moral high ground, but it'd happen – and a cranky, hungover Sasuke would be patronized and worried over, subjected to many a Lecture and desperate plea go _get help._

She was always more direct than Naruto. In fact, she'd been the first to use the A-word.

_Addict._

Addict. So much worse than 'Alcoholic.' Because Sasuke wasn't some _addict._ What he liked, what he _wanted,_ would be _legal_ in five years, and no one would make a big _deal_ out of it. He wasn't on heroin or cocaine or even weed. _It was just booze._

He'd made the mistake of sharing his logic with Sakura.

Needless to say, the girl hadn't appreciated that.

Not.

At.

All.

.

.

.

"Sasuke…" Sakura said, biting her lip and looking at him with those doleful eyes.

He was sitting on his bed. His head was hurting in more ways than one and he _knew_ he looked like seven different shades of shit. He cradled his head in his hands and looked up at her through his bangs. "What?" he said. He didn't mean for it to come out as snappy as it did, but his head _hurt_ and so did his side and he didn't remember what happened last night and –

The last one was a lie. He _did_ remember. Some of it, anyway.

Enough to know that he'd gotten the _shit_ beaten outta him.

_Kimimaro's gonna _GET_ it…_

The eyes went from 'sad-but-sympathetic' to 'peeved' in about two seconds. But she caught his expression and deflated. "Sasuke…what are you doing to yourself?" She reached over and brushed his bangs out of his eyes. The mannerism reminded him so much of his mother that it _hurt._

He pushed her away. "Not _now,_ Sakura."

He had a game in less than an hour. He already had a killer hangover to deal with, and now he had to have _Sakura_ of all people harping on him? _And_ reminding him of his mom?

Not cool.

Sakura, however, wasn't quitting. Her eyes narrowed. "Not now, huh? Then _when? When,_ Sasuke? When's the time for you to wake up and realize that you're just another _addict?_"

The words cut.

They cut _deep_.

Sasuke stood, so quick and sharp that he nearly fell over and his head reeled. He ignored the splitting pain in his head – it was secondary to his injured pride.

"_What?"_ he growled, eyes narrowed. He couldn't have conveyed _tread with caution_ better if he'd painted the words across his chest.

"You heard me." Sakura refused to be quelled. "You – are – an- _addict._ An addict, Sasuke."

Sasuke did what he did best. He laughed, cruelly, and set out to hurt her. "Don't be such a prude. It's just booze, Sakura."

But Sasuke, brilliant as he was, sometimes forgot that Sakura was a _girl._

And girls were masters at the art of _mental terrorism._

"Yeah, and it was 'just booze' that killed your parents."

Something inside the cranky, hungover Sasuke absolutely _snapped._

"Get – _OUT!_"

Sakura must've realized that she'd effectively sent herself up shit creek without so much as a paddle. A second later, however, she had the air of satisfaction that came with a girl who'd just realized that she had the perfect ammunition.

"It's true, you know," she said in that same smug-as-hell tone. But he knew she knew she was treading on thin ice, because when he took a step forward she headed towards the door.

"_Get out!"_ Sasuke acted on impulse. He picked up his size-ten soccer cleat and _launched_ it in her general direction. It didn't hit her – thank _god –_ but it came pretty damn close, hitting the door frame and falling to the floor.

Sakura cast one last disgusted look from the cleat to Sasuke, shook her head, and left.

Sasuke flopped belly-up on his mattress and ran his fingers through his hair.

He groaned.

_What the fuck are you doing?_

.

_._

.

"Can I see him?" Sasuke asks. His voice is strangled. "I – " he cuts himself off as the same doctor from before enters, flanked by a dark-haired male nurse.

"And how are we feeling?" the dragon-lady asks, too-too-brightly.

"Like shit," Sasuke grounds out. Itachi throws him a dark look –_ watch yourself –_ but Sasuke doesn't care. It's true.

"Understandable, given how you were rampaging around my hospital last night." She narrows her eyes at Sasuke, then extends her hand to Itachi. "I'm Dr. Tsunade Senju. I'm going to need to talk to Sasuke's legal guardian – insurance information as well as technicalities and treatment. Also," and here her attention turns back to Sasuke, "The police are here. They need a statement. Now, you're allowed a lawyer, but you're not suspect. Lucky for you." There is no joy in her tone as she tells Sasuke this; just disdain.

Itachi stands. He gives a nod – of encouragement or warning, Sasuke can't tell – and follows Tsunade out of the room.

Not ten seconds later, a tanned, thirty-something cop enters. "Asuma Sarutobi, at your service." He grins amicably at Sasuke and turns Itachi's chair backwards, mounts it and props his arms on the back. "You're awfully beat up, aren't you?"

Sasuke looks at him flatly. He's been in the hospital a total of fourteen hours and he just wants to fucking _punch_ something. Crushing the happy mood of the cop would have to suffice. "Can't we just get on with it?"

The man shrugs. He smells faintly of cigarettes, Sasuke notices. "It you want. First," he pulls a pad and pen out of his pocket. "Name?"

"Sasuke Uchiha."

"Age?"

"Seventeen."

"Are you an athlete, Sasuke?"

_The hell does that have to do with anything?_ "Yes."

Asuma nods, looking at Sasuke. "I can tell. What do you play?"

Sasuke grits his teeth. "Soccer. Year-round."

"Do you have a girlfriend, Sasuke?"

_What is he getting at?_ "…Not exactly."

Asuma _mhms,_ like he understands. "What's your relation with Naruto Uzumaki?"

Sasuke swallows. "He's my best friend." He curses himself – his voice fucking _cracked_ when he spoke.

Asuma takes this in stride. "How about Hidan Yugakure?"

"What does Hidan have to do with it?"

At Asuma's look, he answers. "He graduated a year above my brother."

"Mizuki Tsubaki?"

"…who?"

"So you don't know him. Alright. Now, Sasuke: tell me what happened the night of July 2?"

Sasuke shuts his eyes. He wills himself to get his thoughts together, to form a choherent story, but wordvomit comes before he can put a stop it. "It should've been me. _I_ should be half-dead, not Naruto. He didn't even want to go, right? He just wanted to get pizza with Sakura…but they came with me anyway. Him and Sakura. The party's low-key, not even really a _party,_ just twenty kids and a bonfire."

"And booze?" Asuma prompts gently.

"Yeah." Sasuke's answer is strangled. "Enough booze. Typical, right? Nothing…" Sasuke swallows. "Sakura stayed with Ino. I – I was drunk, so Naruto…giving me a ride."

"Naruto was sober?"

"Yeah."

"And driving?"

"_Yes._" As an afterthought, Sasuke adds, "He even had a seatbelt on."

Asuma scribbled some things on the pad, then stood. "Well, lucky you. Your story matches the evidence found at the crash site and your painkiller-induced psychobabble. Kudos."

And Sasuke scowls. "How about you tell me what happened?"

Asuma regards at him lazily, eyebrow arched. "You don't remember?"

"I was fucking drunk, the next thing I know I wake up in this dump and my best friend's fucking _comatose._"

"Mizuki," Asuma answers simply. "Was the driver that hit you. He's dead, if that's any consolation. Natural causes, officially, but between you and me he had it coming to him. Hidan was the one who phoned the ambulance."

There are more questions Sasuke wants to ask, things he wants to say, but he sits there in the hospital bed, silently staring at his knees. With a sigh, the officer leaves.

And Sasuke is left alone.

.

.

.

It's a good thing Itachi paid attention to Tsunade when she was going off about concussions and head trauma and staying still and prescribed medication for the shock, because Sasuke didn't. He sat there all the while and stared out the window, contemplating life and chance and irony.

He has to wait another hour before he gets an all-clear from the doctor.

The all-clear isn't much, though. Basically it means that Sasuke can get up from his bed, move around the hospital with an aid, and have non-family visitors.

_Like anyone would want to visit me._

As far as Sasuke's concerned, he's half a killer.

Besides. They're only keeping him for the next two days.

Getting any kind of status on Naruto was like pulling fucking _teeth,_ but eventually Tsunade gave in – partly because _not_ telling him was only adding to his head trauma and partly because he'd already made two almost-successful escape attempts to find the boy _himself. _

Naruto is, straight from the dragon-lady's mouth, "Stable. Not unconscious long enough to be proclaimed comatose, but that's where he's headed. There's no brain bleeding or fractured skull, and his other organs are being treated. He's not responding to audible stimuli, but he squeezed his godfather's hand, which is promising."

_Stable._

_Comatose._

_Not responding._

_Fuck. _

And because Sasuke is 'mildly concussed,' he can't have 'too much stimuli.' Which means no 'engaging' TV, reading, running, smoking, jumping, sharp movements of his head or spine, and/or music.

Itachi – the bastard that he was – decided to 'help' by buying Sasuke a sixty-four pack of Crayola crayons and a Disney coloring book.

Both had been promptly thrown against the wall. Sasuke was _seventeen,_ and his best friend was half-_dead._ He didn't want to fucking _color._

That day was hell, full of Itachi's _Itachi-ness_ and blood test and asshole doctors and bitchy nurses and icky hospital food and _a half dead Naruto._

Around six PM he is saved, however, by none other than Sakura Haruno.

Who is, coincidentally, the _last_ person he wants to see.

She appears in the doorway, catches one look at him, and says, "Are you…how are you doing?"

Sasuke gave a bitter laugh because he knows what she was going to say. _Okay. Do I fucking look okay?_ But because Sakura wasn't a total idiot, she amended at the last second because _of course he wasn't okay._ He looks up at her and answers a question with a question. "Did you see Naruto?"

Hitting her where it hurts the hardest. Like always.

She bites her lip, nods. "He…they say he's stabilizing."

_Yeah. Stabilizing. _"Did they tell you it was my fault?" he asks viciously. He wants her away, wants her _out, out OUT _because this is him, at his worst, and Naruto, at his weakest, and _she can't see that._ Sakura didn't bounce back like Naruto, didn't pretend not to care like Sasuke. She was her own brand of emotional, and this –

_This would kill her._ Sasuke knows it, he knows it as well as anything, and because she needs to leave _right fucking now_ or he'll kill himself with self-loathing, he says, "Did they tell you that because I was _drunk,_ that because _I'm fucking addicted,_ that I killed him?"

Tears are welling up in her eyes, and Sasuke feels everything but that sick satisfaction he'd been hoping for. He can feel himself start to cry too, because gods, this isn't fair. Naruto – Naruto would know what to do, or say, or feel. Right now Sasuke can only sit there and be _mean_ and gods, he doesn't know what the hell he's feeling anymore, only that it's going to give in an ulcer sooner rather than later.

"Oh, _Sasuke,_" she says, and hugs him.

As if somehow, he's the victim. As if somehow, she can fix it. Like this was just a normal hangover that required an Advil and water and her own particular brand of TLC.

Her arms are around him and his face is pressed right above her chest and she's squeezing him tight, too tight, and Sasuke's crying now, he's actually _fucking crying –_

"It's not your fault," she's whispering, over and over. "Not your fault. The other driver was on _heroin,_ Sasuke, _heroin,_ and it was dark, it was a freak accident –"

And Sasuke is torn between pushing her off the cot, out of the room, out of his _life_ because how can he _face_ her, he killed the one thing they have in common, the one thing they both _love_ and now –

And pulling her closer because though half of Sasuke is convinced that he's a killer and no one should be allowed this close to him, the other half is convinced that there's no place safer.

.

.

.

**What have we learned from this? **

**Don't drink and drive, asshats. Kay? Kay. ^_^**

**ANYWHORE….**

**There should be…two or three chapters following this. **

**Thoughts?**


	2. freefall

**PREAMBLE: More angst. Thanks to the reviewers, and remember: all views on pop culture expressed by the characters in this fic are intended to be nonoffensive, tongue-in-cheek- and fictional. **

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Sasuke can't go in there. He can't he can't he _can't he won't._ But Sakura – Sakura's waiting.

It's the end of Day One In Hell. Jiraiya's allowing Naruto visitors – the doctors said something about Naruto possibly responding to them – but Sasuke _can't._ He can't go in there and look at his friend and be _with Naruto's godfather_ while Naruto's half-dead and Sasuke's half a killer.

Sakura winds up leading him in by his wrist.

The room is still white, white, white, but Jiraiya – big, smiley, Jiraiya –is sitting on the couch in the corner of the room, looking pensive and drawn. He stands as they enter. He and Sakura go through the motions of small talk, and Sasuke shrinks in on himself, hugging the wall.

But Jiraiya notices him – how could he not? And, on his way out, clasps Sasuke on the shoulder. "I'm glad you're okay," he says with a wan smile.

Sasuke does his best to look the man in the eye and nod, but he knows it's a useless endeavor. He knows he winds up looking shifty and grimacing, because really, Sasuke isn't good at smiling.

Not like Naruto.

And Sasuke thinks he's going to be sick. This would be so much easier if Jiraiya could hate him, could yell and be mean or at least ignore the shit outta Sasuke. But he's not, he's _not,_ and Sakura's presence in the room is the only thing keeping Sasuke from losing the cookies he'd manage to stomach.

_Heh. Tossing your cookies. Literally._

Sakura sits down on the chair by the bed demurely, biting her lip and looking at Naruto with sad eyes. She takes his limp hand a squeezes it. Sasuke wants to say something, wants to comfort her, but he can't; when the words don't come, he hovers behind her like a shadow, unable to muster up the courage needed to clasp her shoulder reassuringly.

What he _does_ have the courage to do, though, is take her free hand in his own. She squeezes it, and his fingers twitch in response.

She turns around and smiles softly at the action, at him, and it's all Sasuke can do not to cry.

.

.

.

Sakura has no idea how she's not a total wreck right now, because both her boys are half-dead and falling apart.

_In that order._

She can't help but think that Naruto would have an answer, that Naruto would know what to do, that Naruto would be able to make things better with just a few words and a megawatt grin. But that's the problem, wasn't it? Always relying on Naruto to fix them and make it better – without him and his deus ex machina, they were lost.

So what were they supposed to do when Naruto's the one who needed to be fixed?

Sakura swallows and tries not to think of the answer. She casts one more look at Naruto's unconscious form and looks away quickly; it's _terrible, sickening, disgusting_ to see him – hyper, always-moving, puppylike Naruto – still and hooked up to machines.

Sasuke's already out of the room, sitting on the floor and leaning against the wall. His knees are drawn up to his chest in an uncharacteristic display of vulnerability; he doesn't move when she comes out.

Sakura takes the seat next to him and he leans his head on her shoulder. She gets an arm around his back and they stay there in silence.

_Sasuke…Naruto…_

Eventually, Sasuke says, quietly, "It should have been me."

"Don't say that."

"But it's true."

"_Sasuke._" Her voice is sharp, the reprimand cutting and double-edged.

"Which one of us," he says, and Sakura knows exactly who he means by 'us.' "Who would you rather it be?"

"I – Sasuke, you can't just –"

"It's not that hard, Sakura. Me or him."

Sakura suppresses the urge to correct his grammar, because right now that isn't important. She knows what Sasuke is doing – needling her, being difficult so she'll get angry and leave, pushing her away without _really_ pushing her away; that way, if she leaves, it's by her own volition.

But – and this is the big _'but'_ – when someone is in equal parts pushing and pulling, it begins to take an effect.

"Easy, huh? What if I made you choose between Naruto and me? _Hmm?_" Sakura removes her arm and scoots away, glaring at him.

Sasuke's black eyes become slits. "It's different, and you know it."

And here's where Sakura falters, because_ dammit_ she knows that, but now isn't the time or place. She tells him as much, and Sasuke snorts. "You're going to have to one day, you know."

"I'm not having this conversation," she says, and stands up, striding away.

Tears prick her eyes as she leaves the hospital. Because she knows – _God, she knows –_ that Sasuke's right.

_Naruto…he'd know how to fix this. _

She slumps on the ground outside, leaning against the building, praying to a God she's not sure she believes in to make everything okay.

**.**

**.**

**.**

Sasuke watches Sakura walk away, feeling equal parts triumphant and sad, and altogether helpless.

_Look at you. Brutalizing the only two people who've loved you – one physically and the other emotionally._

He finds it strangely appropriate.

What he does with Sakura – their emotional tango – is three parts habit and two parts nature, and all parts fucked up. It was psychological warfare, plain and simple – at least, that's how he perceives it. Maybe it's not _her;_ maybe it's just him, just his problem.

A lot of things seem to be 'just his problem,' lately.

He wanders back to his room at the coaxing of a nurse. The crayons and coloring book have been picked up and placed on the bedside table. Sasuke glares at them before going into the bathroom to shower.

.

.

.

Sasuke doesn't want to look at himself, because the person looking back at him in the mirror is a stranger.

The person in the mirror is pale, even though it's mid-July. His hair's greasy and lank and hangs in his face like a little emo fuck. The person in the mirror is bruised all along his jaw and up the left side of his face; this is topped with twenty-four stitches on his temple. There's blood all scabbed and crusted around it. The person in the mirror has a gash on his cheek, a split lip, and bags under his eyes.

The person in the mirror looks haggard and drawn; he doesn't look capable of making a girl cry or half-killing his best friend.

The person in the mirror doesn't look nearly as bad as Sasuke feels.

So it can't be him, right?

.

.

.

The shower has a humanizing effect; the hospital food does not. Sasuke eats only the fruit – probably the only thing that hasn't been sanitized and processed beyond edible recognition – and calls it a night.

Insomnia is a bitch, however, and when two AM rolls around Sasuke is coloring his third _Little Mermaid _picture (because that Disney movie kicks _ass, _he'll have you know). This is how a nurse finds him at two-thirty when she does her nightly checks; Sasuke gratefully takes her up on the offer of sleeping pills, and by three-thirty he is out cold.

.

.

.

The three of them were perfect, right?

_Perfect._

Friends since grade school. They fit together seamlessly, Naruto and Sakura's beta friendship easily accommodating another person in the reserved, aloof Sasuke. They were a trio, and by high school they became_ the _Trio, capital –T. Between the three of them, you had everything you wanted in a teenager – athletic, intelligent, cheerful. On the flipside, they were angsty, self-conscious, obnoxious – but they balanced each other out to a bearable equilibrium.

_Sakura brings out the best in Naruto brings out the best in Sasuke brings out the best in Sakura. _

And contrariwise:

_Sasuke brings out the worst in Naruto brings out the worst in Sakura brings out the worst in Sasuke._

See?

Perfect.

Perfectly flawed.

Like a puzzle, and optical illusion, a machine. They had a specific order, like a DNA code. They were the perfection of dying star with the entropy of melting ice, and even if Sasuke was making no sense right now, he didn't give a flying fuck.

Maybe the dying star thing made more sense than he thought, because all perfect things must come to an end. Maybe this – his half-murdering Naruto – was the supernova, and it was only a matter of time before a black hole came and destroyed everything.

Sasuke knew what they'd say if he told them: _he'd_ give him a blank look, then shake his head and call him weird; _she'd_ look at him, more than a little concerned, and offer a thin smile to assure him that _look, Sasuke, everything's okay._

But they were supposed to be perfect.

Best fuckin' friends. The kind you're only supposed to hear about in books or movies – the always-have-your-back, surrogate-family, Capital-Letters BEST FRIENDS. It was a title, a stamp; no matter how pissed off he was, or how much of an asshole he'd been, or if he hadn't spoken to them in a month – he could always sneak into their house at four AM and things would pick up where they left off.

Sasuke was the oldest; not by much, he figured, but older than Naruto by three months and Sakura by eight. It was enough – he turned seventeen first, got his license first, would be an _adult_ first. He also _acted_ older – it was his job to protect the two of them. Naruto was too hyper, too loud, to be anything _but_ a little brother. And Sakura…

Sakura.

She kept shifting, at least in Sasuke's eyes. .

Whatever that meant.

He tried not to think of what Naruto saw her as, though it wasn't exactly rocket surgery to figure it out.

And maybe it was his fault, pulling her in and pushing her away in equal parts. Push and pull.

Give and take.

But it fit her – it fit them – flawlessly.

Perfect, right?

_Perfect. _

And he had to go and fucking destroy it.

_Typical._

.

.

.

The next day more people visit – though in truth they're there more for Naruto than him. Sasuke knows this, he knows that, really, he's only a shadow to Naruto; even Sakura has her own clique independent of him.

But not Sasuke.

Neji, Tenten, and Hinata arrive; Sasuke pretends to be asleep when they pass by his room. Shikamaru, Ino, and Chouji come, later – Sasuke talks to them, briefly, knowing that he won't be able to fool Ino. Though she doesn't love him, not anymore, she still offers him a smile, a hug, and a bouquet of flowers.

Kiba doesn't bother visiting him, but Kiba isn't the one Sasuke is worried about.

The person Sasuke is worried about arrives in a whirl of chains and leather, black-rimmed eyes baleful enough to kill.

Gaara.

At first, Sasuke things that a scowl is all Gaara's going to offer, but the other boy catches Sasuke's coloring and his look darkens. Sasuke glances down and inwardly sighs. Coloring Ariel and looking like – well, like a car-crash victim – isn't the position he wants to be in for _this_ confrontation.

_God, I need a drink._

Sasuke feels an instant revulsion at his thoughts, but hell, it's _true._ He had a difficult time dealing with Gaara on a regular basis; and _now…_

_Now he smells blood._

And when Gaara smelled blood, he went in for the kill.

"Naruto's responding," Gaara says, stepping into the room, entirely oblivious to the _get the fuck out_ vibes Sasuke was exuding. Sasuke, in a moment of clairvoyance, knows what's going to happen: he knows that he's waiting for a response; he knows Gaara's going to guilt-trip him _good,_ and he knows that he musn't show any outward signs of guilt because if he does, he's fucked up shit creek without a paddle.

_Because Gaara would just _love_ that._

"I know," he said, eyes narrowed.

Gaara crossed his arms and leaned back on the counter. "They say you're concussed."

"Mildly," Sasuke corrects.

Gaara _mhms_ but makes no move to leave. Sasuke grits his teeth. He and Gaara were, loathe as he was to admit it, similar. To an extent. It was funny – Sasuke and he were the same age, held back in first grade, though the reasons were worlds apart.

Sasuke was held back – not that he'd ever admit this – because he wasn't 'emotionally ready.' (Read: First-Class Mama's Boy.)

Gaara was held back because he'd had_ problems._

And sometimes, the effects of those problems shone through. (Read: Gaara is a batshit motherfucker who should garner about as much trust as an angry, rabid cobra. (Never mind that cobras were reptiles and reptiles didn't get rabies.))

"You know," Gaara said, too-amicably to bode anything good, "Sometimes I wonder what the hell they're doing, hanging around you."

Sasuke snorted. "You sound like a jealous ex-girlfriend."

Setting Gaara off when Sasuke was in the hospital was probably not the smartest idea, but _dammit,_ this kid rubbed Sasuke the wrong way. If it came to a fight, right now Sasuke was fucked. On a _good_ day, he secretly doubted his ability to beat Gaara. Granted, he was six inches taller and _not_ manorexic, but…

_Gaara's batshit enough to compensate._

The sound that Gaara made wasn't human. Sasuke rolled his eyes. "What do you _want?"_

Gaara uncrossed his arms and walked around the room. "You need to get your _fucking_ act together, Uchiha. Naruto's too good for you – don't _look_ at me like that – and Sakura only hangs around you because _he_ does."

Sasuke manages to put all his hate, all his anger, all his self-loathing into a look, but he's leveled by Gaara's gaze. The other boy leans forward, and Sasuke can smell coffee on his breath."Because if it weren't for you, Naruto would be okay right now."

_Like I don't fucking KNOW that!_

"Get the _fuck_ out_!"_ Sasuke snarls. Gaara stands back up slowly, unfazed.

Gaara regards him one last time and leaves, bumping into Sakura on the way out. Sasuke can hear them speaking, Sakura's clear voice contrasting with Gaara's raspy baritone. Sasuke stares at the lights on the ceiling, tears blurring his eyes. He was _not_ fucking crying. Not in front of Sakura, because of _Gaara. _

Even if everything he'd said was true.

_Everything._

_Bastard!_

Sakura is in the room for five minutes before Sasuke trusts his composure. When he looks at her, he sees that she's carrying a plastic Chinese takeout bag and a backpack.

Wordlessly she sits on the cot across from him, letting the backpack drop to the floor. Sasuke sits cross-legged, making room for Sakura and the food.

Chicken Lo Mein for her and sesame chicken for him. Sasuke's mouth waters as he smells it.

_Good gracious god, Sakura, you are a goddess._

The food is still hot, and delicious.

Eventually, she says, "What was that all about?"

Sasuke regards her for a minute, chewing and swallowing. "Gaara?"

She nods.

He swallows again. "He wants me dead."

"He's wanted you dead since seventh grade. _That_ was more than that."

Suddenly, Sasuke is no longer hungry. The Fist is back, tightening its grip around his stomach. "He blames me," he said, trying to brush it off. He gives a bitter chuckle. "Hell, he hates me almost as much as I hate me."

Sakura's eyes are sad. They've been sad a lot, recently. "You can't keep beating yourself up over this, Sasuke."

"Do you blame me?"

"No. Sasuke, you've got to _stop._ If not you to, Mizuki would've hit _someone._ The car behind you – he was the guy who called the ambulance, you know."

"Yeah, but if I wasn't _trashed_ then Naruto –"

"_Still_ would've driven home, he's never let you drive the Mustang." Sakura puts her food aside and scoots closer, gripping his hand. "It would've happened – it _could've_ happened – any time, to anybody. It's the risk you take when you drive –"

Sasuke takes his hand away, maybe a little too roughly. "Is that what you're writing this off as? A fucking_ statistic?"_

_He'd _been the one to insist they go to the party in the first place; _he'd_ been the one to bring the whiskey.

He can see the anger in her flare up, watches as she visibly tries to quell it. "That's kind of what it is. An incident involving another driver and a DUI."

"Is that what you'll be saying when Naruto _dies –_"

Sasuke is cut off by a stinging pain in his cheek. It was so quick, so fast, that it takes a moment to register that Sakura has slapped him.

He looks down at her, expression dark. "You don't know what you're doing."

Sakura laughs. "But you do, don't you?" She shakes her head. "Do you want me to blame you for what happened to Naruto? Hate you? Is that it?"

_Sometimes,_ Sasuke thinks. It'd sure as hell be easier if she could hate him. "Maybe," Sasuke says.

Sakura looks at him and shakes her head. "You're doing a good job."

"Not good enough, if you're still here."

If anything, _that_ catches her attention. "You think I'm going to leave you alone? After what just happened?"

"You _should,"_ Sasuke says venomously.

Sakura pauses and looks him dead in the eye. "Do you really want that?"

Sasuke doesn't answer, because _no,_ he doesn't want that. The best place for Sakura, as far as he's concerned, is between himself and Naruto. But one third of their Capital-T-Trio was missing, and Sasuke only wants one thing:

"I want things to go back to how they used to be."

.

.

.

They were her boys. They always had been – since grade school.

Naruto and Sakura were next-door neighbors. Though Sakura looked down on Naruto when he first moved in with Jiraiya, (he was a _boy,_ smelly and gross and_ loud)_, she eventually warmed up to him – to the point where, briefly, he'd replaced Ino as her Best Friend.

A block behind them was the Uchiha Manor. Sakura explained to that Sasuke lived there – he was the coolest kid in their grade, and the best at soccer, she'd said, when giving Naruto the Grand Tour of the Block.

(Her six-year-old wisdom was ignorant of the fact that the only reason Sasuke was so 'cool' and good at sports was because he'd repeated first grade because he wasn't 'emotionally ready.' (Mama's boy that he was, he didn't want to listen to the teacher, or play nice with the kids, or do his homework). His father had straightened him out, nice and good, on that issue – and thus, emoting at school was reduced to a minimum.)

Naruto wasn't impressed. Fancy house, so what? He had a _tree house._ Did Sasuke have a tree house?

Sakura, worldly as she seemed, didn't know.

(The truth of the matter was, Sasuke _didn't_ have a tree house; he had a swing set, and a very nice one at that, but that wasn't as cool. And he didn't have anyone to swing with, so what was the _point?_)

And Naruto – Naruto knew in his six-year-old heart that'd he _won_ that round, 'cause tree houses were the _best._ And so what, if Sasuke was good at soccer? So was _Naruto._ He was faster than all the other kids on his team – faster than even Sakura! But she played defense, so that was okay. She didn't _need_ to run as much as halfback, or striker!

(The truth of the matter was, the first time Naruto's team went against Sasuke's, Naruto's team lost. But no one really cared, because it was ten AM on a Saturday – it was the coed under-eight teams that you played before you went to school. The only person who _really_ cared was Naruto, who vowed to defeat 'The Blue Team' – _and_ their stupid striker!)

And thusly the rivalry began.

Naruto wanted to beat Sasuke.

Sasuke…he just wanted…

_Naruto to shut up._

_His dad to shut up._

_To be like Itachi._

(The truth of the matter was, Sasuke wanted to be like _Naruto,_ too. So what if all the girls liked Sasuke and he was picked first for teams at recess? Girls were annoying, and recess was just recess. All the _boys_ liked Naruto, and Naruto got invited to birthday parties and always had a group of laughing kids around him. People _admired _Sasuke, but they _liked_ Naruto.)

The rivalry turned into an unconventional friendship; soon a third kid was accompanying them on their misadventures, and dealing cards, and sneaking cookies. Before very long it was NarutoSakuraSasuke, running around and wreaking child-havoc, no time for spaces or dinner or sleep.

Sakura always looked out for them – protecting Naruto from the vicious brand of gossip unique to preteen girls in middle school and regularly saving Sasuke from himself.

She'd been doing that a lot, lately.

But she'd keep doing it. They were her boys, weren't they? And they _needed_ her now, comatose and self-destructive as they were.

.

.

.

They next day Sasuke visits Naruto one more time before leaving. Or tries to, at any rate. He's there for all of thirty seconds before waves of nausea hit him and then he's kneeled over the trash can, emptying his stomach.

The real thing he'd been trying to rid himself of –the tight feeling he's come to call The Fist – remains, clenched tightly around his stomach.

His brother wordlessly ushers him out, offering him a mint. Sasuke takes it gratefully.

The car ride home is silent. Sasuke momentarily panics – cars? Cars killed Naruto, he thinks, because psychobabble is all he can pretty much manage at this point – but the slam of Itachi's side door jerks him out of it, and soon Sasuke's in the car and buckled up and they're doing 70 on the interstate, headed back home.

"I've notified Sakura of your coming home," Itachi says eventually. "She said she'd be over at seven."

Sasuke nods listlessly. All he can think about right now is the sheer _unfairness_ of it all, that he's leaving the hospital with nothing more than stitches and a concussion, and Naruto's still in there, fucking _asleep,_ and even if he does wake up he'll be out of commission for_ weeks._

_Not fair._

.

.

.

When Sakura arrives at six fifty-seven, Itachi lets her in and guides her to the kitchen. "Sasuke is asleep," he says. "The painkillers make him drowsy."

Sakura nods, taking this in. "Should I come back tomorrow, then, or…?"

Itachi shakes his head. "He'd want you to wake him up. And besides," and there's a hint of humor in his tone, "I've made dinner for three."

Sakura smiles and complies, pretending not to notice the bucket near the trashcan, the bucket that's home to numerous bottles and the silver flask – instead she focuses on the delicious scents wafting from the stove.

Baked ziti – one of Sasuke's favorites. Whoever said that bachelors couldn't cook clearly hadn't met Itachi or Sasuke – both could cook _quite_ proficiently. Sakura never quite understood the whole 'I can't cook' thing. In her opinion, anyone with a couple brain cells to rub together could do it – it was as simple as following directions. _Honestly,_ even _Naruto_ could do it –

_Naruto…_

Naruto _hated_ cheese. This turned out to be quite a problem, as Sasuke's favorite food was anything Italian. Subsequently, whenever Itachi made ziti for the four of them, he always left some devoid of all cheese, just for Naruto.

_None of that now, I guess,_ Sakura thinks somberly as he serves her. She sits across from him, eating quietly. It isn't awkward as it could have been – this is _Itachi, _more reserved and, dare she say, attractive, than Sasuke – but, in actuality, it is familiar as eating with her own older brother.

Well, not that she _has_ an older brother.

"Sakura," Itachi says eventually, breaking the silence, "How does Sasuke seem? To you?"

Sakura pauses, forkful of ziti halfway to her mouth. She puts it down, biting her lip. _Damn open-ended questions. _"He…I don't think he's taking this well. Not that there's a good way to take," she makes a gesture with her hand. "This."

Itachi _hmms._ "He threw up today when he saw Naruto."

Sakura winces. "He's…taking it hard. He's doing that thing where he shuts down. All systems 'autopilot.'" Personally, Sakura thinks that this is the all Uchiha's MO when handling a crisis, but she doesn't voice that.

Itachi frowns, and manages to look so much older than twenty-one. "I am…worried. About him."

Sakura concurred. "I – I think he'll bounce back. Once Naruto's better, you know?"

Itachi's sighed. "I hope so. Until then…could you keep an eye on him?"

"Of course." Sakura had planned on doing that anyway. On an impulse, she reaches across the table and squeezed Itachi's hand. "Don't worry too much," she tells him. "You'll give yourself an ulcer."

Itachi smiles wanly. He is about to thank her, but is interrupted by fast, deep thrumming coming through the walls.

Sakura exhales. "Guess that means he's awake." She stands and offers a smile. "I'll see what he's up to."

And Itachi is alone.

.

.

.

Sasuke's really only pretending to be asleep for his own benefit; when Sakura enters he opens his eyes and inclines his head, reaching over for the stereo remote to lower the music to a more reasonable volume.

Sakura shuts the door behind her. "The dulcet tones of Trent Renzor, am I correct?"

"Deuces," Sasuke says, impressed despite everything. "Album?"

Sakura pauses for a minute, listening; Sasuke watches her, waiting. "The Fragile?" is her answer, sounding more like a question.

"Downward Spiral."

Sakura _tsks,_ and Sasuke smirks to himself. She's probably remembering that time he changed her ringtone to the chorus of _Closer…_and then proceeded to call her. In front of her parents.

Sometimes Sasuke marveled at his fifteen-year-old genius.

Sakura strides over and perches on the bed. Sasuke can now see that she's holding the coloring book and crayons from the hospital. "Apparently, Mister, you're not supposed to be listening to music."

"Shhh."

Sasuke doesn't really take his room into consideration until they are people in it. To him, it's his space. To others, it's insanely big with a mopey blue-and-purple-and-black color scheme, and rather technologically advanced (cue state-of-the-art stereo, new-ish TV, and every gaming system a guy could want.) His bed is big, _duh,_ enough for him to sprawl out and Sakura to sit on the edge and there _still_ be enough room for two people, easily.

And it's times like these where he's acutely aware of his 'rich-boy-trust-fund-kid' status.

Sakura, however, is not. Or, if she is, she doesn't care. She flips open the coloring book, amused. "Someone has an affinity for _The Little Mermaid,_ it seems."

"Someone," Sasuke says, mimicking her tone, "Needs to leave a man his peace."

Sakura rolls her eyes, setting the book down and frowning at his stereo. "Shouldn't you be listening to, I dunno, something a little happier?"

"Like what? Natasha Bedingfield?"

"…Wouldn't hurt."

Sasuke snorts. "This is the second-best album you'll hear in your lifetime and you're not even appreciating it."

Sakura rolls her eyes. "And what's the first?"

"_Tommy._ The Who, 1969."

Sakura exhales and flops on her back, next to him. She's silent for a time, and Sasuke listens – her breathing is the only sound as _Closer_ ends and fades into _Ruiner. _Eventually, she speaks. "Remember when you were obsessed with My Chemical Romance?"

"Blasphemy."

"And that summer you bleached your hair white, just like Gerard Way?"

"I am _concussed,_ woman. You're making painful memories surface."

Sakura giggled. "And – oh, God – you wrote 'I'm Not Okay' on every available surface?"

Sasuke, in a vain attempt to stop her rambling about his less-than-cool days, throws a hand over her face. Because he was _never_ obsessed with My Chemical Romance. He only casually listened to them. He did _not_ have all four albums, _nor_ did he have a signed poster chilling in his closet.

Nope.

He is Sasuke Uchiha, cool-as-fuck Sasuke-effing-_Uchiha._ And, seeing as he isn't an emo fuck or a female, My Chemical Romance was waaaaa_aaaa_y beneath him.

_Yeah, right._

But seriously.

Sakura squeals and wriggles away, sitting up. She pokes him on the forehead. "And –and-and –remember freshman year, when you had that man-crush on Marilyn Manson?"

Sasuke groans. Clearly Sakura is trying to cause him some kind of mental pain. "You buy _one_ poster for the band, and _boom!_ Man-crush. _How_ many Foo Fighters posters does Naruto have? Like _five,_ but for him it's totally fine."

Inwardly, Sasuke winces at bringing up Naruto. Sakura, however, rolls with it. "Because Dave Grohl is a god. Obviously."

"Obviously," Sasuke echoes, and, after realizing that he just had an entire conversation without The Fist, thinks that maybe, things are going to be okay.

.

.

.

Alone in the kitchen, Itachi sighs to himself. To have a friend like her…

_Sasuke is lucky._

He sighs again and casts a baneful look at the corner of the kitchen. He'd divided his time yesterday between legal documents, talking to doctors, arranging insurance information and practically _scouring_ the house for any and all alcohol.

It turns out Sasuke didn't even pretend to hid anything. All was kept in a neat mini fridge in the garage, only one flask kept in his nightstand drawer. Itachi knows that nothing good will come from a direct confrontation, but he also knows that this is for the best. Sasuke is stubborn, prideful, and seventeen; even if Itachi _were_ a parent, there wouldn't be much he could do to control him, at this point.

It's a fucking catch-22: you give a kid freedom and let him actually be a teenager, and something like this happens; put him on a leash and he rebels and bites the hand and _hates_ you.

Itachi sighs. He hopes Naruto will pull through soon; he was fond of the boy and knew that he had a good influence on Sasuke. He's immensely grateful that Jiraiya held no hard feelings. Things could've gotten really ugly, _really_ fast if he'd had…

The ringing of his cell pulls him out of his musings.

_Kisame._

"Hello?"

"_Heard about your brother,"_ Kisame says, cutting to the chase. "_How is he?"_

Itachi isn't sure how he wants to answer this: _breathing_ sounds too bitter and _totally fucked up_ is too whiny. "Well enough to blast Nine Inch Nails," he settles on.

That gets a laugh. "_The dulcet tones of Trent Renzor. But seriously._"

"Mildly concussed and sprained wrist. Twenty stitches on his temple."

Kisame whistles. _"Man, he got out lucky. Hidan said he saw the crash…"_

Itachi _mhm_ed, and, without even thinking: "Wasn't even wearing a seat belt."

"_He is one lucky bastard,_" Kisame says, effectively saving Itachi from his own faux paus. _"Hey, I gotta run. But if you need anything, let me know, alright?"_

Itachi thanks him, prepares to say goodbye, then:_ "_Actually…"

.

.

.

Sasuke had fallen asleep long before the movie had ended, head in her lap and arm holding her torso, fingers dug into her shirt material. Sakura sighed, glanced at the clock. Nearly eleven-thirty – she was already late.

_Oh, well._

She smoothed Sasuke's bangs behind his ear and disentangled herself from him, setting a pillow in her place. Sasuke slept like the dead on the best of days, and after everything…

_Hell, _I_ feel like I could sleep for a week._

Sakura bit her lip, looking at him. Asleep he looked young, unguarded, vulnerable. She supposed everybody did, but it was weird, seeing Sasuke like that.

_And he must feel so guilty…_She did, too, and she felt like shit consoling herself that _it was going to happen anyway, it's nobody's fault, wrong place wrong time._ Because it _shouldn't_ have happened. Both of them had promising futures, and if Naruto's was fucked up because of this, she wouldn't put it past Sasuke to fuck up his own future.

But if there was one thing Sakura had faith in, it was medical science. _Coma_ wasn't synonymous with _death;_ it was the body's natural response to protect itself. And the doctor had said that Naruto was responding…

_It's only been three days. _

God, only _three?_ It felt like a _week,_ at _least._

Downstairs, Itachi was reading. He stood when she entered the room. "I'll walk you home," he said, and Sakura knew better than to argue with him, even if this was _surburbia_ and she was _a block_ away.

.

.

.

The walk is mostly silent, but it's a companionable silence. Eventually, Itachi asks, "How did he seem?"

Sakura thinks for a minute before answering. "I think…better. Once he stopped thinking about it. But…"

"But?" Itachi prompts, curious and worried.

Sakura hesitates, then says, "Right before he fell asleep…I dunno. He's upset, Itachi, and I get that…but he was talking about _penance._ He's trying to pretend it's not bothering him, but then he just _says_ something and…I'm worried."

Itachi exhales. "He won't be left home alone."

By now they're standing at the top of her driveway. Sakura nods. "Call me if you need anything, okay?"

Itachi smiles thinly, looking down at her. Suddenly, she hugs him, fiercely, sisterly. "And take care of yourself, too."

Itachi's touched. His arms come up and encircle her, drop back to his sides when she pulls away.

"Thank you," he says, and he couldn't be more sincere. "For everything."

.

.

.

**I don't own anything mentioned. **

**Sasuke has an affinity for concept albums :X **

**Thoughts?**


	3. crashland

**PREAMBLE: 1.** **_TRIGGER WARNING._**

**_If you are easily triggered, I suggest you leave._If you don't know what the aforementioned message means, then you're good. Proceed. **

**2. For those of you coming from _Pot Calling Kettle_ and getting confused: **

**- Sasuke is 17, Naruto and Sakura are 16. Given the birthdays, and the standard American school system cutoff (September1 ) this makes them going into their Junior year...which does make them sorta young. Pot Calling Kettle takes place Junior year. But it doesn't really matter. They can be however old you want them to. This was essentially born when I asked myself, 'what happened that made Team 7 split?' And I sorta figured that this *gestures wildly* was a grave enough situation.**

**Thank you all for your lovely feedback:3 **

**Now. On with the story. **

**.**

Kisame Hoshigaki is big, loud, and under no circumstances allowed to be wearing a pink, frilly apron and cooking in Sasuke's kitchen. No matter what anyone say, or how often Sasuke did it himself, there is nothing masculine about cooking – even if you _are_ cooking to the soundtrack of Ronnie James Dio.

Sasuke rubs sleep from his eyes. "The hell…?"

Kisame turns to him, grinning. "Man, you sleep like the dead. Hope you like bacon and eggs on toast, it's all I can make."

Sasuke frowns. This was escalating to a different level of weird – yes, Kisame was at his house a _lot._ He and Itachi were close – but this particular meeting was a little too similar to that one movie...

_I am not Natalie Portman, and you are not V._

"I am not Natalie Portman," Sasuke finds himself saying with conviction.

Kisame pauses, then just about roars with laughter. "Yeah, you're much more the John Travolta type."

Sasuke narrows his eyes, cursing his sleep-addled brain. "Where's 'Tachi?" He mumbles through a yawn.

"Had to run some errands," Kisame says, maybe a little too cheerfully. "Asked me to babysit, seeing that you're all doped up on Vicodin."

Sasuke grunts and all but falls into the kitchen chair. He rests his head on his forearms and tries not to think. Kisame's humming is strangely domestic, comforting; it puts Sasuke at ease, a little, and he even manages a small smile when a plate of bacon and eggs - with a side of toast - is placed in front of him. Kisame sits down with his own plate, and raises a glass of orange juice in cheers.

Sasuke picks up a fork and begins eating, slowly, to which Kisame says, "Eat. I spent all morning cooking, and you've lost some weight, punk." But his pace had already picked up once he realizes that he's _ravenous, _and _damn,_ that smells good. He can't remember the last time he ate, nor does he care to; he is a teenage boy, and dammit, he eats like one.

Kisame isn't a quiet man, even when he isn't speaking; he hums along to the music, tapping his fingers, his fork, his foot. He doesn't try and make inane conversation, but Sasuke asks him, "Why are you here, exactly?"

Kisame swallows a mouthful of juice before answering. "Your brother asked me to keep an eye on you. He had to take care of something at the office real quick, and he's picking up your prescriptions. Apparently, they fucked up and gave you something a little too strong – hence, you slept sixteen hours."

Sasuke looks at the clock, and almost chokes on his eggs. It's nearly four in the afternoon. "Crucified Christ," he says, then adds: "Did Sakura stop by? Is there anything on Naruto?"

Kisame shakes his head. "Nothing, kiddo. Sorry."

Sasuke _hms. _The Fist doesn't return (_thank GOD) _as he finishes his meal and takes the plate to the sink, thanking Kisame for the pseudo-breakfast. He then retreats to his room, sends a text to Sakura – _hey what's up, any news?_ – and decides that a nice, hot, _long_ shower is called for.

His bathroom is tasteful and spacious, much like the rest of the house. Sasuke strips and gets it, making the water about as hot as the devil's piss. His body is still covered with bruises, and technically, he shouldn't be getting his stitches wet, but Sasuke can't bring himself to care. So what if they fall out? Any infection can be stayed by dousing them in rubbing alcohol, which he's been doing anyway. Doctors were so paranoid, sometimes.

Some thirty minutes later Sasuke's out, towel around his waist and hair dripping. He's moving sluggishly, like honey, and he catches sight of himself in the full-length mirror on the back of the door. Most of the damage is on his torso, but a good portion of the damage is on his legs, concealed by the towel. There Sasuke stands, giving his reflection a good, hard look in the most non-narcissistic way possible.

Underneath the cuts and bumps and bruises, he looks good – he's long and lean, broad in the shoulders and narrow in the waist. His muscles are cut, defined, not overbearing but certainly not lacking. Maybe he's a little skinny, what with the way his collar bones and hip bones jut out, and he _loathes_ the effeminate look of his eyes and mouth; those features make him 'pretty' not 'handsome,' provoking compliments like 'cute' instead of 'my oh my what a sexy beast,' though it could be worse – he could be Itachi.

Sasuke sighs and goes to his room, slips on a pair of boxers and falls onto his bed. Absently, he checks his phone – _going later, wanna come?__ N how are you?_

_Shitty,_ Sasuke thinks. _Tired,_ he types back.

Two minutes later, she replies: _Wanna get ice cream, then go see him?_

_Sure,_ Sasuke types. _Pick you up in 5. _

Of course, Sasuke doesn't mean drive; the ice cream parlor is two blocks away from Sakura's house. They'll walk, like they always do.

Sasuke lies still on his bed for five minutes, and is already late when he begins to get ready. He can't help think of the T. S. Eliot poem – the _Lovesong_ one –as he pulls on a pair of faded jeans and a t-shirt, slipping on his sneakers as he tells Kisame where he's going. The feeling is only reinforced as he sees the almost-setting sun as he departs (now thirteen minutes late) and, unbidden, the words come to him:

_Let us go then, you and I,_

_When the evening is spread out against the sky, _

_Like a patient etherized upon a table…_

_Pretty words,_ he muses, _but what do they mean?_

He doesn't know the answer when he arrives at Sakura's (seventeen minutes late, total); she's waiting for him outside, seated on her doorstep. She wears a yellow hoodie over a pink tank top and jean shorts, and Sasuke can't help but think that her clothes are deliberately optimistic. She falls into step next to him and they walk; Sasuke tells her of his too-strong painkillers, how he is, apparently, _not_ Natalie Portman, and how this will be the second thing he's eaten in nearly thirty-six hours.

Sakura laughs and gasps and makes faces at all the appropriate times, offering witty comeback of her on, and by the time their little back and forth is over, they're at Patty's. There's only a little bit of a line, but by the end of the night it'll multiply, teenagers and families alike drawn to the delicious, creamy ice cream.

True to form, by the time they order and sit at one of the outdoor tables, the line has grown, snaking into the parking lot.

Sakura licks her chocolate-chip cookie dough quietly, and Sasuke picks at his cookies-n-cream, and he knows that they're both thinking that someone should be sitting to Sakura's left and Sasuke's right, filing the silence as he all but devoured his vanilla-with-thirteen-odd-toppings.

"Hiya, Forehead!"

Ino Yamanaka wanders over and sits next to Sakura, just pulled up and not having yet ordered. She nods to Sasuke, and he nods back - he's friendly enough with Ino, sure, but he's in no mood to talk.

"Pig," Sakura greets in that derisive way unique to best friends of the female variety. "Sup?"

Ino grins. "Ice cream with the boytoy. And yourself?"

"Getting fat with this slut over here," Sakura says, grinning cheekily and gesturing to Sasuke. He kicks her under the table for that, but inwardly he's smiling – crude for Sakura, yes, but inside jokes are inside jokes, even if that was Naruto's line.

Ino laughs, flicking her blonde ponytail over her shoulder. "Figures. Hey – " she glances over her shoulder, frowns, "I gotta go, Sai's giving me a _look._ If either if you two need anything, let me know, mkay?" She smiles and leaves, sashaying over to Sai, who, Sasuke thinks uncharitably, is a thinner, paler, washed-out, artsy version of him.

Ino can't help her bad taste, he muses. "Sai's her boy of the week, then?" he asks, more for sake of conversation than true gossip. Dimly, he thinks he should restate that. He didn't mean to make Ino out to be a whore, which she wasn't – she just moved around. Fast. Dated guys, made them love her, then ditch them when she got bored. It wasn't her fault, really. It just was a fact: Ino Yamanaka would rip out your still-beating heart, crush it, and walk away without so much as blinking.

Sakura shakes her head. "He was. That turned into Boy of the Month, now he's been Boy for the Better Part of the Year."

Sasuke _mms_ and watches the duo out of the corner of his eye. Even from a distance, you can tell Ino is beautiful. She's the kind of girl that makes a guy really appreciate the importance of curves: calves to thighs to ass to hips, dipping in at the waist and sloping out at the breast, the gentle curve of her neck easily sliding into the line of her shoulders. Sakura, who is by no means lacking, looks almost waifish in comparison – an Audrey Hepburn next to a Marilyn Monroe (or perhaps, even, Judy Garland).

_And that,_ Sasuke thinks to himself, _is the gayest thing you've ever thought in your life. _

Sasuke is pulled away from his thoughts by a sigh coming from Sakura. He glances at her and wonders what she's thinking. He follows her gaze, but she's staring at something he can't see – he supposes she's caught in a memory. God knows they have enough of this place.

_Ten years old. The three of them split the Delux Sundae. _

_Twelve years old. Naruto eats his ice cream too fast and throws up on Sakura's shoes._

_Fifteen years old. Naruto is chewing Sasuke out about cheating on Tayuya with Karin. _

_"Hooking up with someone while you are in a relationship with someone else isn't cheating, Naruto,"_

On impulse, Sasuke reaches over and clutches her hand in his own, gives it a squeeze. Sakura's gaze flits from the horizon to their hands then to him and she smiles, but Sasuke can see that it's fading around the edges, like a photograph exposed to too much sun.

They stay like that, in silence, and eventually Sasuke broke it. "Let's go."

Sakura looks back at him and nods. "Okay. My mom said she can drive us."

Sasuke doesn't argue. Normally, he was their de facto chauffeur – though whether this was because he was the oldest or because Naruto was unnaturally protective of his 1977 Mustang or because Sasuke was oldest, he wasn't sure – but he wouldn't feel comfortable driving. Not now.

That – and the fact that on his prescription bottle, written in bold, was: **Do not operate any machinery while under the influence of this drug. **

Or, something to that affect.

So twenty minutes later, they're saying goodbye to Ino and piling into one Mrs. Haruno's car.

.

.

Kairi Haruno is a doll of a woman, petite and young-looking (for pushing-forty, anyway.) Over the years, she's become surrogate mother to Sasuke and Naruto, straightening their proverbial ties and offering what she can from a distance. She knows that her daughter could do worse than those two, but, maternal pride _insists_ that she could do better.

Nevertheless, she can't help but feel a pang for her daughter when she sees Sasuke. It's the first time she's seen him since the accident, and he's not looking too good. There are dark circles under his eyes and bruises along his jaw, stitches on his forehead; he's normally quiet, taciturn at best and reticent at worst. He always has been, more so in his teenage years…but his perfunctory greeting is duller than usual.

Her heart goes out to the boy. First his parents in that tragic accident five years ago and now his best friend?

He certainly doesn't seem to be taking it well; what Sakura has said and his appearance now reinforce the idea. Kairi can't blame him; is there any _good _way to take this?

Her daughter isn't taking it well, that's for sure. She cried herself to sleep last night – though Kairi is unsure if it was her friends' situations or her parents' that caused Sakura to be so upset. For her part, Kairi's done what she could to shield her daughter from the current family situation…but Sakura wasn't stupid.

And the enmity between her parents was pretty damn obvious.

Kairi isn't oblivious to her own shortcomings; she is well aware that she is type-A. She can be a bit of a micromanager and a neat-freak, and she has a bit of a temper.

But _that,_ she _knows,_ is better than being an unemployed alcoholic.

Allow her to restate: _unemployed because of alcoholism._

And he had no place, dragging their sixteen-year-old daughter into it. _Especially_ given the circumstances, which he would know had he bothered to ask.

But he hadn't. Instead, he'd bitched about money, about car insurance, about some kind of pain or another, about doctor bills – and _let him bitch,_ she'd thought. _His_ liver failure was certainly not _her_ problem – at least, it wouldn't be, soon.

Kairi was a doll of a woman. She was polite and nice, kindhearted. Many liked her, despite her tendency to flip out if the dishwasher hadn't been loaded.

But she, like many, had to draw her lines somewhere.

And she most certainly drew them at living with a loser who hit her.

.

.

.

Sakura finds Sasuke sitting in the waiting room, elbows resting on his knees and head buried in his hands. He lasted five minutes in Naruto's room before he made a lame excuse about the bathroom and bolted.

She sits next to him. After a moment, she says cheerfully, "Naruto's responding. His fingers twitched when I held his hand and talked to him. Jiraiya's thrilled, at any rate."

She finished by clasping her hands together, hoping to get _some_ kind of reaction out of him. Sasuke grunts in response.

Undeterred, she continues, "And they've officially fixed up his lung - though he still runs the risk of pneumonia. He's probably gonna have to sit out half the soccer season. But they're expecting him to come out of it any day now."

Sasuke takes a long minute to respond. "Why can't you just be pissed at me?" he mumbles, finally looking up at her.

Sakura can see that his eyes are red and doleful, looking up at her like she has all the answers.

Sakura shakes her head and sighs. "I can't be mad at you. You know that."

"It would be easier."

She shrugs. "Maybe." She doubts it. "If I were pissed at you...where would that leave you?"

"With one less person to hurt."

Sakura stops herself from rolling her eyes - _just._ "Sasuke, you've got to get off this self-loathing trip. I don't hate you for what you did - no one does. These things _happen, _Sasuke. They hurt people and they suck but they _happen. _You can't change the past. You just have to work with what you've got in the present."

Sasuke snorts. "What do I have to work with?"

She can't help the snappiness in her voice. Sometimes, Sasuke needed someone to kick his ass. "Well, a good attitude would be a start."

They remain in stony silence the rest of the night.

.

.

.

Sasuke's eyes open. He stares at his ceiling, then his clock. Thinking, watching, as the digital numbers glow soft blue in the dark, flicking from _3:03, 3:04, 3:05._ There's a fine layer of sweat on his brow and at the small of his back; Sasuke doesn't know if it's from a nightmare, the medicine, or both.

Either way, he can't remember. All he knows is that when he closes his eyes all he can see is Naruto, lying there, connected to wires and still and washed out. He sees Sakura crying and Naruto half-dead and it's _killing_ him, so he doesn't blink.

Ultimately this fails. Sasuke shuts his eyes harder, willing himself to sleep – this also proves futile. Sakura's words keep coming back to him.

_Work with what you've got in the present. _

_A good attitude would be a start._

They rarely get into fights, but when they do it's usually about a disagreement like this - she harps about his bad attitude or general bitchiness or something equally _stupid, _and he... he deals with it.

_A drink. I need a drink. _

Just one. It would calm him down; the buzz would dull his senses just enough that he could relax, blur the lines just this side of reality so he could sleep.

On instinct, Sasuke reaches over to his nightstand where he knows there's a flask of whiskey. Midway his hand halts, and there it hits him:

_You are on prescription-level painkillers. _

_Your best-fucking friend is half-dead because of your boozing habits._

_Your parents _are dead_ because of a drunk driver._

_What the FUCKING hell is wrong with you?!_

And Sasuke swallows, and a lump forms in his throat, and he makes it to the bathroom _just_ in time before he starts heaving, shaking, slumped over the toilet seat and crying.

When he's done, The Fist closes around his gut with a vengeance and he curls up on the tiled floor, sobbing, gasping, wondering exactly _when_ he became such a royal fuckup.

He's not thinking clearly – he's not thinking at all – as he lays there. He is blank, he is numb, he is nothing.

_It would be so easy,_ he thinks, _just to stop. _

But of course, it isn't that simple.

.

.

.

Itachi wakes up at approximately four in the morning.

He lies there, staring at the ceiling under his covers. He is tired – so very, very tired – but sleep evades him. He is not afraid of the dark – in fact he welcomes it, hoping that the cloying darkness will press him into sleep.

He is jerked fully into wakefulness when he hears the noise.

Itachi frowns and sighs, and, though he doubts it's a burglar, gets up to investigate. It's a stumbling, cursing – his brother, most likely, though Itachi wonders what he's doing awake. Sasuke slept like the dead, and had been sound asleep when he'd last checked on him – some five hours ago.

He treks downstairs, turning on lights as he goes. Sasuke's bedroom door is opened, he sees, but his brother is not in the living room or kitchen – or bathroom.

Itachi frowns to himself and rounds the corner from the living room to the den, groping along the wall for a switch. It's then that he bumps into a very solid, very _Sasuke-sized_ figure.

Sasuke curses, backing up and stumbling. He plants a hand on the wall for balance and Itachi – now having found the switch – flicked on the lights.

Sasuke looks pale and unkempt. He's wearing a hoodie and basketball shorts, one hand in the sweatshirt pocket and another holding a pair of sneakers.

Itachi sighs. "What are you doing up, Sasuke?"

There are dark circles under his eyes, Itachi notices. "Looking for my sneakers. What're _you_ doing up?" There is much more accusation in Sasuke's tone.

"I heard you." Itachi narrows his eyes. "What were you planning on doing?"

Sasuke hesitates, but his reply is gruff. "Gonna go for a walk." He makes to brush past Itachi, but Itachi stops him with an arm on his shoulder.

"Sasuke, you are not going for a walk at four in the morning."

Sasuke absolutely scowls. The effect is spoiled when he pouts like a toddler and almost – dare Itachi think – _whines. _"Why _not?"_

Itachi sighs again, wondering if Sasuke missed that whole part where it was _four in the morning. _"You're concussed, for one."

"So?"

_Was I this irascible ?_ Itachi suddenly feels sympathetic for every adult who'd ever had to look after a teenager.

Instead of answering, Itachi makes his way to the kitchen. He rifles through the cabinets and fridge, gathering packets of cocoa, marshmallows, and milk as he does so.

Yes, it was the middle of summer, but there was one thing that the Uchiha brothers undisputedly had in common: their sweet tooth. Hot chocolate was a perfectly acceptable, _masculine,_ midnight-snack, and anyone who disagreed could kindly fuck off.

He pours the milk into a pan and heats it up, stirring occasionally, waiting for –

"What are you doing?"

That.

"Making hot chocolate," Itachi responds, trying not to smirk to himself. Sasuke's curiosity always got the best of him. "Do you want some?"

Wordlessly, Sasuke gets himself a mug and fixes it with the cocoa powder, then retrieves the whipped cream. The brothers stand in silence as the milk comes to an almost-boil. Itachi pours it into the two mugs and adds marshmallows to his; he adds an extra-large helping of whipped cream to Sasuke's. He's magnanimous like that.

Sasuke wanders into the living room and turns on the TV, sprawls on the couch with his mug perfectly balanced. Itachi follows, perching at the other end of the couch. He says nothing as Sasuke channel surfs, finally stopping at _The Boondock Saints._

"Leave it," Itachi says, though his words are unnecessary. If there is one thing they share other than their sweet tooth, it is their love for independent films.

And, well. _Boondock Saints_ was a classic.

By the end of the movie, Sasuke is fast asleep, hand curled around the empty mug. Itachi smiles to himself and stands, cracking his back. For a moment, he debates on whether or not to wake Sasuke up; deciding to let him sleep, he gets the mug and places them in the sink, throwing a blanket over Sasuke as he turns off the lights and heads upstairs.

_In nomine patris, _

_Et filii,_

_Et spiritus sancti, _

_Amen._

.

.

.

It is approximately eleven-thirty in the morning. Itachi sits at his kitchen table, Kisame adjacent to him. They sip their coffee – Itachi, black with sugar, and Kisame, two sugar two cream – in silence.

"You look tired, Itachi," Kisame finally says.

Itachi shrugs. "Didn't sleep well."

Kisame leans back, balancing the chair on its hind legs, and frowns. "Have you told Sasuke?"

"Hm?" Itachi looks up, feigns ignorance.

It doesn't work. Kisame snorts, gesturing widely with a large, knucklely hand. "You know damn well what I'm talking about."

And Itachi does. He lets out a sigh and massages his temples. "Sasuke…is in no position to take that information right now."

Kisame narrows his eyes. "And he wasn't two months ago?"

Itachi shoots him an abrupt look. "I wanted to know more details."

He pretends not to be intimidated by the older man's gaze. At twenty-five, Kisame isn't _really_ that much older – and he respects Itachi like an equal – but it's times like these where Itachi feels like a _child._

Even still, it wasn't quite Kisame's business.

The man finally relents, and says, gentler, "Have you had another episode?"

Itachi shakes his head. However, his own failing health is now what's concerning him right now.

"I…last night, I found him down here. Four in the morning. He was looking for something…fell asleep on the couch, but he's back upstairs now..." Itachi looked up. "He's not stable, Kisame. I don't know if it's from the pills or the situation, but Sasuke is breaking down." Itachi relaxes his fist and lets the bullet roll on the table. "I found this in his room. A dozen of them."

Kisame's mouth was a thin line. "That bad, huh?"

Silently, Itachi nods. "I have him scheduled to see a therapist later in the week."

Kisame ran a big hand through his hair. "Do you think you may be – no pun intended – jumping the gun?"

"I found a glass of bullets in his room, Kisame. _A glass of bullets._ How is that 'jumping the gun?'"

Kisame shrugged, looked at Itachi out of the corner of his eye. "Did you find a gun?"

"No."

"Well. Sasuke is an idiot, but he's not suicidal. And you know he's into –" here he made a gesture, "That. The culture. Remember? I gave him a bullet belt for his thirteenth birthday, he wore if for six months straight?"

Itachi drags a palm over his face. "This is different."

With a sigh, Kisame reaches across the table and takes a look at the bullet. "It's a .22. You don't kill yourself with a .22."

"Beside the point, Kisame."

"Well…are there any firearms in your house that would fit the bullet?"

Itachi sighed. "If there are, they're in my father's safe."

"Well," Kisame stood. "Let's go take a look at your father's safe, shall we?"

.

.

.

Taped to the inside door to the safe there is a piece of lined paper, detailing the contents:

_-Two (2) Browning Hi-Power (9mm)_

_-One (1) 1936 Einfield Revolver (.38 cal)_

_-Three (3) Colt Single-Action Army (.45 cal, .45 cal, .22 cal)_

_-One (1) SPAS -15 (12—gauge)_

_-One (1) Sig Sauer 552 (5.56x45mm)_

_-One (1) Glock 18 (9x19mm)_

Originally, the firearms had their own room to showcase them– their father was a collector. There had also been dozens more – unfortunately, those particular weapons required a permit that Itachi had been too young to obtain at the time, and they now lived with their uncle, the police chief Obito.

Itachi was not a fan of guns and wouldn't pretend to know what that list had meant, so he stepped aside and allowed Kisame to take a look.

"Essentially," he said, pouring over the list. "You've got four revolvers – one of which is rather vintage, kudos on that – a shotgun, two pistols, an assault rifle – which brings the question, _what the even fuck? –_ and…a Glock. Which, pardon me, falls very, very flat."

"Is anything missing?" Itachi asked tersely.

Kisame peered inside the safe, eyes flickering from the guns to the list. Worry mounts in Itachi's chest as Kisame frowns, and turns to Itachi. "Yeah," he says. "You're missing a Colt. The .22."

"_Fuck." _ The word is crass and sour on Itachi's tongue, but very aptly sums up the situation. Itachi books it, running from the basement to the upstairs. Kisame is hot on his heels, and it's his throaty bark of _move!_ that keeps Itachi going when he hears the first gunshot.

.

.

.

"_Shit!_"

Sometimes Sasuke wonders if he has to fuck up _everything._ First he gets setback by Itachi, _thanks a whole fucking lot,_ then he misplaces his bullets, and now this. He can't even load a goddamn gun properly without the damn thing going off prematurely and blowing a hole in his bathroom wall.

_Collateral damage, _he figures. Won't be his problem.

Hands shaking and heart pounding in his throat, Sasuke loads it again. It's a Colt .22, one leftover from his father's collection. The barrel is long, which is what he needs. Experimentally, he puts his mouth over it, angling it upward.

_Perfect._

But first – first, Sasuke flips open his phone. There are two unread message – both from Sakura. He doesn't read them, instead types out:

_I'm sorry. _

He sends it and, upon thinking that it's lame, he sends another: _Thank you._

What he wants to say is, 'I love you,' but he thinks that that would be hardly fair, given the circumstances.

Twenty seconds later his phone is buzzing – texts from Sakura, probably – but Sasuke ignores them, instead swallowing a handful of his prescription. He washes it down with a mouthful of water (swallowed directly off the spigot) and wipes his mouth. They're his second dose today; he begins to feel the first dosage kicking in, feels his pounding heartbeat slow to something almost normal.

_Good._

The pills are insurance – just in case anything goes _wrong._

Sasuke wanders back into the bathroom and looks at himself in the mirror, _hard._ Tries to see if there's ahything there worth saving, worth forgiving, worth living. Anything worth going downstairs and coming clean to Itachi, who would know what to do.

He sees nothing of the sort.

He lets out a long, slow, breath, and, ignoring the ringing of his phone - picks up the revolver. There's one bullet in it; it's in the sixth chamber.

He shuts his eyes.

_Click_

_Click_

_Click_

_Click_

He doesn't make it to the fifth.

.

.

.

His baby brother is poised with a revolver _to blow his brains out._ Itachi doesn't think – he _moves._

He tackles Sasuke to the ground, wrenching the barrel out of his mouth. One hand is on Sasuke's arm, the other on the gun, and he's _pinning_ him to the ground, ignoring Sasuke's screams. Kisame is behind him and, really, Itachi thinks, he should've let _him_ hand this, he's a fucking SWAT after all –

Sasuke is fighting him, holding the gun to his temple and _pulling the fucking trigger - _

_Click,_ goes the gun, an empty round. Itachi grab the barrel and _moves it,_ jerking it away_ but he can't pry Sasuke's fingers off the goddamned trigger_, and Itachi pales when Sasuke glares and then –

_BANG!_

Itachi's ears are ringing and his hand is shaking, Kisame is cursing, and beneath him Sasuke is bleeding, bleeding, but writhing and _alive –_

"_Call an ambulance!"_ Itachi roars, but Kisame is already on it, bless his soul. Itachi wrenches the gun from Sasuke's grip and sets it inside the bathtub. Sasuke managed to shoot himself in the earlobe – or was that Itachi's doing? During the struggle?

_No matter. _

It was bleeding profusely, completely torn, and Sasuke was on the ground, groaning _"It should've been me,"_ – Itachi doesn't look at him, _can't _look at him, because this is his baby brother and he's _just tried to kill himself. _Itachi promised to take care of him, to protect him – but how do you save a self-destructive kid?

It is with great autonomy that Itachi grabs a bathtowel and presses it to Sasuke ear, staunching the bleeding. Keeping his weight on Sasuke's stomach, he sits back and glances up at Kisame, who is holding a half-empty orange container.

_Fuck. _

"Itachi," Kisame steps into the room. "Is…this his?"

And Itachi feels the pit of his stomach turn to lead. He nods, and Kisame exhales. "They'll be here shortly."

Again, Itachi nods. He hazards a look down at his little brother. He's conscious, tears streaming down his face and looking up at Itachi like he'd just killed his puppy – equal parts hate and grief.

"Why, Sasuke?" Itachi whispers.

He isn't expecting an answer; he doesn't get one.

.

.

.

Itachi informs the paramedics what had happened – a suicide attempt – and they take Sasuke in a stretcher, Itachi following closely behind.

On his way out, Kisame clasps a hand on his shoulder. "I'll lock up and follow you to the hospital, okay?"

Itachi is suddenly very, very tired. He finds himself nodding. "Thank you."

.

.

.

It took Sakura all of about two seconds to put together what Sasuke was doing, and – after two minutes of futilely calling Sasuke's phone – made it to the Uchiha Manor in record time.

_I hope I'm not too late!_

Dread mounts in her stomach as she all but sprints down the street, nearly falling as she sharply rounds the corner.

She tried calling Itachi, but he wasn't answering, either, and _oh my God that's an ambulance, a fucking ambulance, and the sirens are on – FUCK._

She picks up the pace, running, but the ambulance has pulled out by the time she arrives, sweaty and panting in the August heat. She sees a man standing in the driveway – she recognizes him as one of Itachi's buddies – and she runs up to him, asks, "What's wrong? What happened?"

The man frowns down at her. He looks fierce, with high cheekbones and narrow eyes. "Who are you?"

"Sakura," she says, "Sasuke's best friend. _What happened to him?"_

He sighs, runs a hand through his hair. "Sasuke…he shot himself."

Sakura feels the color draining from her face. She takes a step back, shaking her head. _ No. _"No – he – is he –"

"He's alive," the man reassures her. He winces. "Wrong choice of words. Itachi got to him before…but he still managed to put a bullet right through his ear."

Sakura's relief is palpable. "Thank _god,_" she says, under her breath. Louder, "He – he texted me – I guess, I guess it was right before…"

The man frowns. "What did he say?"

Sakura swallows. "He said, 'I'm sorry.' And, 'thank you.'" _Oh, my God. He tried to...Sasuke..._

There was only so much more of this she could take.

The man offers her a sympathetic look. "I'm Kisame Hoshigaki. Itachi's friend – I'm gonna grab a couple of things, then I'm heading to the hospital. Wanna ride?"

Sakura nods. "Yes. Thank you."

Because what else was she supposed to say?

.

.

.

Itachi calls Kisame once he reaches the hospital. He's come to an executive decision while riding in that ambulance and he doesn't second guess himself as he sits in the while hospital chair, leaning his head against the white wall. There's blood on his shirt, _Sasuke's blood, _and he really doesn't want to continue that train of thought.

"Yo," Kisame answers. "I'm on my way – I'm bringing that girl, Sakura, with me, and I couldn't find my keys –"

"Just one thing," Itachi says, closing his eyes. Yet again, he's grateful for Sakura. "Before you leave. Ask Sakura to get enough clothes for Sasuke for three days. A spare shirt for me, as well. And to get his toothbrush – can you do that?"

"No problem," Kisame says. "But three days? How bad is it?"

Itachi opens his eyes, looks dispassionately at the unconscious form of his baby brother. _I let this happen._ "Because for the next seventy-two hours," he says, finally, "Sasuke will be living at the psych ward."

.

.

.

**Yeaaah, Kairi has a bit of a one-track mind :x I know the whole boozehound theme is a little overplayed in this story, what between Sasuke and Sakura's dad, but it's fanfiction. Whattrya gonna do? **

**Don't own Naruto or _The Boondock Saints_ or anythine else mentioned. The Latin bit is from the movie.**

**Thoughts? **


	4. sparks fly

_**God, it's been awhile. **_

_**A big-big-big thank you to each and every one of you who dropped a review - special shout out to seriouslyme who made me remember this document. **_

_**Love you all, lovelies. **_

_**.**_

_**.**_

_**.**_

_Naruto's tree house had become the de facto hangout when they were children, and this fact hadn't changed into their high school years. Naruto was crafty with his hands; he'd managed to expand the original tiny hut into something that was, well, kind of… _cool. _Sometime around seventh grade he'd schlepped up an old couch; that same year he'd managed to wire an old TV. The cable didn't work, but the DVD player did, which was what really mattered. Used books sat on a secondhand wooden bookshelf_

_Sasuke is presently laying on the couch, playing with the loose threads. Naruto is pacing, making the small space seem cramped. _

_"Dude, calm down. You're makin' me nervous." _

_Naruto whirls to face Sasuke. "_I'm _making _you_ nervous?!" _

_Sasuke looks at him, then his gaze shifts ever-so-lazily. "Yeah. You're such a spaz. Calm yourself." _

_"Except we're _fucked,_ if you haven't noticed – Sakura's gonna _hate _me…"_

_Like Sakura would ever hate him. Sasuke sits up. "Tch. You're an idiot. A paranoid idiot." _

_"Shut up," Naruto snaps, and resumes pacing. _

It was funny, Sasuke reflected, how a smashed autographed CD could seem like the end of the world to a fourteen-year-old.

.

.

.

Sakura can feel her world crumbling around her as she walks into the hospital. She trails behind Kisame, who at least seems to pretend t know what he's doing.

Her hands are shaking as she hands Itachi the duffel bag of clothes. They're in the hallway just outside the room. Sasuke's ear had been stitched and he was being evaluated by the psychologist and social worker.

Itachi accepts the bag. "Thank you," he says. Sakura looks at him, really _looks_ at him; Itachi seems old, much older than twenty-two. His face is drawn and his eyes are tired and his shirt is specked with bloodstains. Sakura swallows thickly. _Sasuke's blood._

Itachi sighs. "Sasuke will be kept for observation at a clinic. Hebi, over in Suna. Four days, not three. Visitors are family-only; I'd mark you as a cousin, but on top of that its over-eighteen."

Sakura nods grimly. She feels an odd combination of anxiety and relief. "Can he write?"

"Most likely." Itachi sighs again. "Did you…did you have any idea about this?" His voice strained on the last word.

Something inside Sakura twinges with sympathy. "No," she tells him. "No, I…he sent me a text. 'I'm sorry' …and 'thank you.' I tried calling him but…by the time I got down to the house…"

Itachi shuts his eyes. "Okay. Okay." When he opens them again, Sakura can't read his expression. "I'll call you."

Sakura takes this as her cue to leave. "Okay. Thank you."

..

.

.

Four hours.

Sasuke has been waiting _for four goddamn hours._

He doesn't understand _why_ it's taking this long, much less why Itachi is even putting forth the effort at this point. But somehow, some way, between insurance details and medical records and waiting to see if there's even room for him, _it's taking four goddamn hours._

Needless to say, Sasuke is not pleased.

When Itachi steps out of the room to find out _what the hell had been taking so long_, he leaves his phone. Sasuke capitalizes on this.

He calls Sakura.

As he waits for her to pick up, he idly wonders when he became the puppy in this relationship.

_Probably around the same time you thought about shooting yourself. _

_"Hey,"_ she answers. Sasuke can't help but think that her chipper tone is forced.

He sits there for a minute, wondering why he called her, wondering what to say, when she says, "_Itachi? What's up?" _

It's that that jolts Sasuke back to earth. "Sakura. It's Sasuke."

_"Sasuke! What are you –"_

"They're trying to schlep me to a clinic. I'm at the fucking hospital and I'm bored as shit. Can you come down?"

"_…Sasuke…"_

"Please?" he can't help it; his voice cracks. "I – I want to see you. Before I go."

She's quite for a long while; finally, she consents.

As Sasuke hangs up, he feels guilty; he hadn't meant to manipulate her. He just wanted…

Funny. He's not sure what he wants anymore.

Twenty minutes later Sakura walks in, looking hesitant and out of place.

_Really,_ Sasuke thinks,_ she's beautiful._

He doesn't say that.

Sasuke can feel the unasked questions hanging in the air, all the things she wants to say, all the things she _can't_ say, and instead he says, "I'm sorry."

She looks at him, really _looks_ at him, and Sasuke has to avert his eyes. He looks down at his hand, picks at the loose skin around his thumb.

Sasuke feels the bed shift when Sakura sits on it. "Sasuke…" she reached forward and grasps his hand, squeezes. "How – are you – oh _god._ Sasuke..._why?_"

Sasuke can't bring himself to look at her, so he stares at their hands. His are much larger than hers, rougher, the nails bitten down to the quick; she has half-chipped purple nail polish on and smooth, smooth palms.

"It should've been me," he murmurs. "I – god, I hate myself. I just want to _die,_ but I manage to fuck that up too."

Her hand comes up, a finger brushing over the stitches in his ear. He hates himself for relishing the touch. "Maybe that was a good thing."

She doesn't argue, doesn't yell; Sasuke can practically feel her choosing her words as she shifts closer and continues. "Maybe…this can help you. Maybe, everything…you… God. I'm worried, Sasuke. I don't like seeing you like this."

Sasuke gives a derisive snort. "You hate me."

And why wouldn't she? He's a bastard, worrying her and killing Naruto and his brother, _god,_ Itachi was such a _dick, _a fucking _mother hen,_ not able to just fucking _leave him alone-_

Sakura sighs then, softly, sadly. "Oh…look at me, Sasuke. I don't hate you. I _don't._"

And sitting there, looking her in the eyes, he believes it.

He hates himself for that belief.

Sasuke knows what he's about to do even before he speaks. _Push her away like the fucktard you are. _"So, what? You love me, then?"

She sits there, caught, measuring her thoughts and words and unsure and scared. He's doing it again, simult She's biting her lip. Sasuke rips into her, voice dripping with venom. "Tell me, Sakura. It's a yes or no question. _Do you?_"

"You're my best friend, Sasuke. Of _course_ I –"

_Wrong. Move._

"'You're my best friend, Sasuke,"' He mimics nastily. He packs all his anger, frustration, all his self-loathing into his next words. "You know what I think? I think you're just another dumb bitch, a fucking _coward,_ a worthless piece of _shit-_"

It takes him a moment to register the sharp _smack!_ against his cheek. Sakura glares at him through teary eyes, hands still raised from when she slapped him.

"You need to get it together, Sasuke. Do you see? Do you _see_ what you're doing? To me? To _yourself?!_" She sniffs and shakes her head. "I – I have to go. See you."

And Sasuke sits there, hands clenched into fists and tears spilling on the hospital sheets. He can sense the door open and feels Itachi staring at him; he doesn't acknowledge his brother's presence. He knows, he _knows_ that Itachi knew, that Itachi waited just outside the room, that Itachi had seen Sakura as she left.

His brother wasn't an idiot. He could put two and two together.

But Itachi doesn't say anything, just sits down and waits for the doctors to come in.

.

.

.

Ino has all of a ten-minute warning before Sakura is at her house, two seconds away from crying and pissed off. Ino sweeps the her friend up to her room, turns on a CD for background noise, and listens. Sakura had been spending more time at her house than not recently; her parents' divorce wasn't a pretty one, made all the uglier by her father.

_And now this…_

Ino is worried – genuinely worried – about Sakura.

"It's just," Sakura says through her sobs, "I just – I _hate _him. _So much._ I – I can't be in the same _room_ with him for ten minutes without – without him going _off_ or- just – like _ugh._

Ino doesn't have to ask which 'he' Sakura was referring to. The situation was – to say the least – complicated. Sakura's father was abusive – not chronically, but- fucking _CHRIST. I want him dead, goddammit!"_

Ino likes to think she understands how relationships work. Sometimes, she knows, fights between couples can get physical – a shove or two, maybe a grab here or there. She's uncomfortable with it, and she doesn't think it's right, but she also knows that 'abusive' is a strong word and a serious accusation.

But she also knows what a first-class dick Sakura's dad is.

The long and short of it was: Sakura's dad has been violent to her mom – both now and in the past. It's been getting worse recently, bad enough that Sakura's mom has filed for protection from abuse and has gotten her father evicted.

Problem: Sakura's dad has never laid a hand on Sakura, so he could still fight for custody.

Another problem: Sakura's dad didn't have to officially move out till August first.

The root of all the problems: Sakura's dad was an alcoholic – and point-blank refused to go to AA.

_And on top of that, Sasuke...and Naruto._

Ino is not an insecure person; she knows that she and Sakura are best friends. She is well aware that you can have more than one best friend.

But she also knows that Sakura's relationship with those two boys is another dimension entirely. She knows that their bonds run deeper than 'friends' or even 'best friends.' There is something, she thinks, integral to the three of them, a sort of equilibrium that they all share.

And now that the equilibrium is thrown off…

Ino feels helpless. Her best friend's life is on the brink of falling apart and there's next to nothing she can do.

"You wanna sleep here tonight?" Ino offers.

Sakura bites her lip. "You don't mind?"

Ino snorts. "Do I ever mind, forehead?" But her words are gentle.

Sakura offers a teary smile. "Thanks, Ino."

.

.

.

Sakura doesn't tell Ino about Sasuke – his suicide attempt or what happened at the hospital.

Those wounds are still too raw.

.

.

.

The doctor, psychologist, and social worker had all evaluated Sasuke on his own before Itachi was called in the room. He was told by the doctor that his ear would heal but he was otherwise unharmed; he was told by the social worker that he was a not-shitty guardian and that Sasuke needed help.

_Well, _Itachi thought, _no shit._

The psychologist – a thirty-something man named Ibiki Morino – doesn't beat around the bush. "I'm conflicted about what to do with Sasuke."

Sasuke sits in the corner, half-sulking, half-scowling, but mostly zombie-like. Itachi inclines his head. "I'm afraid I don't understand."

"In the wake of certain circumstances – loss of a loved one, being fired from a job, a divorce – a person can exhibit symptoms – severe symptoms - of depression or anxiety. In these circumstances, I don't like to prescribe medication because it isn't necessarily needed. Pills won't heal grief; only time can. However…" Ibiki taps his pen on the clipboard in front of him. "…your situation is a bit different." He glances at Sasuke, then looks back at Itachi. "A suicide attempt is another matter entirely."

Itachi lets out a breath. "_Is_ Sasuke depressed?"

Ibiki glancs at Sasuke. "No. His symptoms are that of survivor's guilt."

"Then what do you propose we do?"

"Ultimately it's up to you. I _could_ prescribe you anxiety medication –it would calm Sasuke's nerves and hopefully prevent the thought process leading up to suicide from happening - but, as I said, I'd rather use that as a last resort. The other option is staying a clinic. There he will have constant supervision and he can be better diagnosed. Should his symptoms continue, we can take other measures."

Itachi sits in his seat and stares at his hands. "I had him scheduled to see a therapist for Tuesday."

Sasuke looks up at that; Itachi ignores him and continues, "The clinic. What exactly does that entail?"

"Sasuke would stay at the clinic anywhere from three days to two weeks – depending on insurance and my prognosis. There he would receive one-on-one and group therapy and further observation and diagnosis. Also, he would be treated for his alcoholism."

In the corner of the room, Sasuke's clenches his fists. Itachi feels a twinge in his gut, but that was his next point. "About that. Do you think that played a part in the…attempt?"

Ibiki hesitates. "That's hard to say. Nonetheless, Sasuke has expressed interest in treatment and it would be beneficial for him to detox."

Itachi nods. "Right. Okay. Sasuke?"

Sasuke looks up. His eyes are dull and the look on his face is nasty. "I'm not going to a fucking therapist. Way to tell me."

"I was _going_ to tell you today…" Itachi trails off and tries not to become angry. He's trying, Christ, he's trying – Christ, Sasuke tried to _kill himself. _

_Oh God. Oh God…_

Itachi feels on the brink of a breakdown – something he hasn't felt in over six years.

"What about staying at the clinic, Sasuke?" Ibiki asks in an attempt to smooth things over.

Sasuke's expression softens ever-so-slightly. He doesn't say anything.

When it is all said and done, Sasuke winds up being admitted to Hebi – the clinic – for four days. After that he'd go to partial – essentially get babysat by psychologists for the majority of the day – for a week and a half. Sasuke rides over to the clinic in an ambulance – standard procedure – and Itachi drives in his car, mulling the doctor's words over in his head.

_Between you and me,_ Ibiki said, once they'd been alone, _I think Sasuke will stabilize once his friend – Naruto, was it? – recovers. Right now, though, he's still a viable threat to himself. You're _positive _he doesn't have a history with self-harm?_

Sasuke, it seemed had been less-than-forthcoming with information. Itachi told him no, which was the truth. Sasuke internalized things, but he'd never been unstable. Not before…

_And now he's just another orphan fuck-up._

Itachi swallows around the lump in his throat._ No._ _Four days,_ he tells himself. _And then partial. Sasuke will be fine. _

He spends more time than he should wiping tears from his eyes in the clinic parking lot.

.

.

.

**This chapter was a bit different, inasmuch as it was more 'action' oriented than character oriented. **

**Hope you don't mind. **

**More to come - perhaps a midquel about Sasuke's days in rehab? hmm...**

**And I don't claim to be a doctor; any and all medical information is just stuff I've heard from health teachers, doctors, and wiki. **

**Thoughts? **


	5. inferno

**Big big BIG thanks to everyone who reviewed! :) **

**And thank you, all, for sticking with this story. Love you *hearts* **

**5**

_I shouldn't be here,_ Sasuke reflects dimly. _I really shouldn't._

He's an interloper, and outsider, a drop-off mistake; the FedEx man had left the wrong package. His roommate is a fourteen-year-old anorexic boy named Suigetsu – and as if that wasn't sad enough, the kid had latched onto Sasuke the minute he'd arrived.

"Dinner's in thirty minutes," the boy says, watching Sasuke from his perch on his cot. Between the way he's sitting and scratching his wrists and the too-big, too-bright eyes, Sasuke thinks he looks like a cat.

Sasuke makes a noncommittal noise in response. The room is nearly Spartan, with white linoleum floors and baby blue walls. There are two cots, a dresser, a night stand, and a shelf. Two of the four dresser drawers are Sasuke's; the other two are Suigetsu's. On the shelf lay a King James Bible, the third _Harry Potter_ book, and _The Hobbit._

Looking at Suigetsu, Sasuke somehow doubts that they're his.

Sasuke knows that he isn't confined to his room but he doesn't want to go out. He doesn't _want_ to play nice and make friends with the other fuck-ups and leftovers, he doesn't want to play big brother to a kid barely through puberty, and he doesn't _want to be here._

There's a sharp knock on the door. Suigetsu adjusts his hoodie sleeves just as the door is opened.

Sasuke looks up. In the doorway is a girl with unnaturally bright red hair and thick-rimmed glasses. She glances at Sasuke and says to Suigetsu, "This your new roomie?"

Suigetsu nods, hops off of his perch. "Sasuke, meet Karin."

"Welcome to the nuthouse, Uchihia."

And Sasuke just wants to _die._

Karin goes to his _school._

It's as if the girl can sense his mortification. "Never pinned you for a psycho. So, whatcha in for? Starvation? Anger management? Observation?"

"Karin…" this is from Suigetsu, who appears uncomfortable with the situation.

"Oh, hush. I want to know what the mighty Uchiha is doing in a fucking clinic." She tilts her head, crosses her arms and squints at him. "I wouldn't peg you for a cutter. Or a starver. Maybe depression? One of those out-of-the-blue suicide cases? Addiction?"

Sasuke cannot remember a single incident in his life where he wanted to hit a girl more. Before he can respond, however, Suigetsu comes to his defense.

"Shut your whore mouth!"

The kid looks fucking distressed, eyes wide and thin chest heaving. Karin gives him a lazy look and smirks, opens her mouth to say something, but then an aide walks by and ushers her away, returning seconds later to give Suigetsu a sympathetic look. "I'll handle her. You two go down to dinner."

Sasuke turns his gaze over to Suigetsu. He seems calmed down, but he's biting his lip and rubbing the inside of his arm. He catches Sasuke looking and says, "She's not that bad, usually. I think they changed her meds."

Sasuke nods, like he understands, and wordlessly follows the boy down to the mess hall.

_What. The fuck. Just happened. _

.

.

.

Meals, Sasuke found out, were mandatory. The staff didn't really care where you sat – unless you were in for an eating disorder, then you had to sit on the end so they could monitor how much food you threw away – as long as the boys were on one side of the table and the girls were on the other.

_Yeah,_ Sasuke thought. _Because I'm totally gonna feel up a girl in a fucking mental hospital. Get real._

He had fully planned on eating alone, but as it were that was impossible – nearly every table was at least halfway full and – surprise, surprise – Suigetsu more or less herded him towards a less-full table. Sasuke made no move to disagree, setting his tray down and sitting next to Suigetsu. On the other side of Suigetsu was a ginger kid built like a frigging tank; no one sat next to him.

Across from them sat a small girl with dyed red hair, an extremely androgynous – girl? Sasuke was assuming – andKarin, who upon seeing the extremely androgynous – boy? Girl? – rolled her eyes and said, "Sakon. Other. Side."

A collective groan went up at the table – the girl next to Karin rolled her eyes and Suigetsu muttered, "Can we just drop it, you two?"

The androgynous – boy? – gave a smirk. "But I'm just feeling so _feminine_ today, Karin, you _know_ how that goes…"

"But the fact is, you have a dick. Other. Side." She narrowed her eyes. Sakon – okay, so he was a dude – smirked but shifted, sliding his plate across the table and sitting next to Sasuke.

_Fantuckingtastic. The bossiest girl in school and some fucking fag. Awesome._

"Can you two just hook up and be done with it already?" the other girl said, stabbing her plastic spoon into her mashed potatoes with more force than necessary.

Next to Sasuke, Sakon smirked. His lips were painted a weird shade of blue, eyes lined with black eyeliner, pale bangs flopping over his face _just_ so – _seriously, are you _trying_ to perpetuate stereotypes, or…?_

Because really, how gay could you _get?_

"What, the sexual tension making you feel uncomfortable, Tayuya?" he crooned, leering.

"That, and you two have the _sickest_ way of flirting. It's annoying." This came from the muscular ginger to Suietsu's right. "Fucking _Christ,_ the food here is gross."

"The potatoes aren't that bad," Suigetsu said, eyeing his plate, "But the soup is questionable."

"I swear, I've lost like, ten pounds since I came here." The not-Karin girl – Tayuya? – said, a bit bitterly. "Not that I'll be wearing a bikini anytime soon but, hey – sweet diet."

"There _is_ scar removal cream, you know," Sakon said, not unkindly. "And, you know, surgeries and stuff."

Tayuya looked doubtful. "Yeah…"

Sasuke tried his best not to pay attention, instead focusing on the semitoxic food. Suigetsu was right about the soup being horrible, the mashed potatoes being okay, but _really_ the only thing Sasuke trusted was the packaged saltine crackers.

Karin snapped her fingers in front of him. "Heyo. Earth-to-Uchihia. Come in."

Sasuke looked up and scowled. "_What?_"

"So it speaks," Karin remarked mildly. "We were just _saying –_what're ya in for?"

"Standard meet-and-greet procedure," Sakon added. "Everyone else has ASL, we have, well…" he made a gesture with his hands, then made air-quotes. "'Issues.''"

Suigetsu looked uncomfortable. "Guys, he's gonna find out sooner or later, and he just got here, why –"

Karin leveled him with a look. "Bec_ause._ I know him from school. And Sasuke Uchiha is _not_ someone you'd peg to wind up _here._"

Sasuke's clenched his jaw. "And why are _you_ here Karin, _hmmm?_"

"They think I'm bipolar. First round of meds made me cr_aaazy._" She said it so flippantly, so easily, that it made Sasuke want to punch her. "Jugo's got anger management issues," she said, pointing to the ginger kid. "Suigetsu's thyroid makes his levels outta whack. Tayuya and Sakon – well, I'm sure you can piece _that_ together."

"My therapist likes to call it "reckless behavior,"" Sakon offered with a not-so-nice-smile.

Sasuke pinched the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and his thumb. "Alcoholism," he settled on. The word tasted funny in his mouth. "They want me to detox."

"Ah, but the question is," Sakon said in an overly grandiose voice, "Do _you_ want to detox?"

Maybe it was a mental patient thing, because everyone else at the table – minus Suigetsu – laughed. Sasuke made no comment, instead focusing on eating his crackers.

Suddenly Suigetsu stood and put his tray on the conveyer belt that took the unused dishes and trash back to the kitchen then stalked out the door. He seemed pissed – over what exactly, Sasuke wasn't sure – but he wasn't going to get into it. It wasn't his business.

_Keep your head low, go along with the program, and get out of here._

Karin was snapping her fingers in front of his face again. _"What?_" he snapped, glaring at her.

"I _said,_" she told with great suffrage, "We're headed to the rec room to play some extreme poker before showers. You in?"

Sasuke shrugged, suddenly more concerned about what "showers" entailed but not for the life of him about to ask.

Instead he said, "What about Suigetsu?"

Which, really, wasn't much of an improvement.

Sakon looked like he was about to speak, but Karin beat him to it. "Like I said, his thyroid's outta whack. Makes him pissy – a _lot._ He sticks around when he wants to – just leave him alone."

As they got up to put their trays away, Jugo lingered behind with Sasuke. He was tall – taller than Sasuke and maybe thirty pounds heavier. "Do I know you? From somewhere?"

Sasuke didn't respond because _yes, yes he did._ Jugo was from Oto, the prep school one city over – he and Sasuke had played for the same club soccer team in middle school. _(And Sasuke still recognized him at the high school games, but he wasn't about to say that because what sort of freak recognized people from middle school soccer teams?)_

"I don't think so," he settled on.

Jugo _mhmed_ and went to catch up with Tayuya.

Sasuke trailed a bit behind them as he followed them to the rec room. Hanging with them, he figured, was better than returning to his room to sit and mope with Suigetsu.

_This. Is going. To suck. _

.

.

.

Friday morning at 10:16, Sakura receives a phone call.

"_Hey,_" a slightly scratchy voice says on the other line. _"Didja miss me?"_

.

.

.

Extreme Poker spanned across the Monopoly, Parcheesi, and Battleship game boards, required two decks of cards, and a _lot_ of "be as fucking random as possible."

Sakon had advised him to "sit out a few minutes" so he could get the gist of the game. Ten minutes later all he could get was _what the fuuuuck?!_

The rules were the bastard lovechild of the rules of all the games; Jugo got himself five aces, placed them down with a smug expression on his face; Karin, as the banker, handed him 500 in Monopoly money _and_ the Boardwalk property. When Tayuya rolled doubles, Sakon cried out, "Bitch! You just sunk my battleship!" and Karin was very, _very_ displeased that her Monopoly piece (Sasuke thought it was the dog, but he wasn't positive) got swapped with her Parcheesi piece when Sakon's piece got sent to jail, - apparently somehow that meant you couldn't win _either_ of the games? – and Sasuke was still very, very confused.

"Well, _Sasuke,_" Sakon sang, shaking three dice in his hand "You ready?"

He rolled; two twos and a three. "Not bad," Karin remarked. "Now draw five cards."

Sasuke did as instructed, drawing two queens of hearts, a two of clubs, three of spades, and ten of diamonds. "Uhhh…"

Sakon peered at his hand. "Two red queens. Congrats, you have the red properties – and, aw, fuck, Karin's Parcheesi pieces are red, aren't they?"

Apparently _that_ meant that her Parcheesi piece could go back to the Parcheesi board and move three spaces forward.

_Ookay…._

It continued in that way; Sasuke _really_ didn't get a hang of it until about an hour in, but by then they were told it was fifteen minutes to lights-out.

Karin swore under her breath as she gathered the battleship pieces. "I wanted to take a shower tonight."

"You _really_ need to do something about your hair," Sakon agreed. This earned him a faceful of plastic ships, courtesy of Karin. He only laughed, gathering the Monopoly money. To Sasuke, he said, "So, how's your first day at the nuthouse going?"

"I dunno," Sasuke said, folding the Monopoly board. "Nutty."

Sakon chuckled, flicking his hair out of his face. "Wiseass. I like you."

"Sakon, stop flirting," Karin said, taking the Monopoly board from Sasuke and putting it back in the box. To Sasuke, she said, "Hey – you're sitting with us tomorrow, right? This weirdo," by that Sasuke assumed she meant Sakon," Notwithstanding."

"Getting awfully feisty, aren't we, Karin?" Sakon commented, smirking. He stage-whispered to Sasuke, "I think she wants your dick."

Tayuya absolutely lost it at that, falling to the floor in a fit of giggles. Jugo spluttered, clutching his sides. Sasuke even found himself half-smiling a little at that. Sakon was pretty funny.

You know, for a fag.

.

.

.

Everything _hurt._

When Naruto had awoken he'd been stuck with so many needles and tubes that he could hardly move. Two hours later most of the needles and tubes were gone, replaced with an impossible amount of pain. An hour late the morphine was starting to kick in – _finally,_ Jiraiya explained what had happened: a car crash, some guy doped up on smack, Sasuke was injured too but not _nearly_ as bad as Naruto, meanwhile Sakura had been practically living in the hospital…

"Sakura!" he said – a little too forcefully, it hurt his _everything_ – and winced. Then, softer, "Can she come? Can I see her?"

Jiraiya cast a glance at the doctor, who shrugged. "Up to you. His vitals are stable – just nothing too stimulating, and for a half hour. He still has a concussion."

_HE can her you, you know,_ Naruto thought, but didn't say anything. Hot fuck, what had he done to his ribs? If hurt if he breathed the wrong way.

Fuckin' car crash…

Car…

"Shit!" he yelled, then "Shit!" again when the pain hit. Wisely, he didn't yell a third time, face screwed in pain.

Jiraiya gave him a look. "Yes?"

"My car. What the hell happened to my car? Where is it – _what have you done with my baby?" _

Ow. Owowowowowow. But this. This was _important._

Jiraiya cleared his throat. "Funny thing about car crashes. The car sort of, y'know, gets _crashed."_

1974 Mustang V6 Coupe. _They didn't fucking make those anymore. _Hell, the only reason Naruto _had_ it was because the geezer he worked did manual labor for (for the better part of his teenage life) passed away, knew no one else who would want an old Mustang, and was feeling generous when he wrote his will.

"We _are_ getting it fixed, right?"

"I've been more concerned with getting _you_ fixed," Jiraiya remarked dryly, muttering to himself, "Maybe I should've left you in the coma…"

Naruto rolled his eyes, but smiled inwardly – if Jiraiya could joke about it, it would be okay.

Momentarily putting aside his resentment over the car _(his baby!)_ he took the phone that Jiraiya handed him, not his own, he noticed – that had probably gotten destroyed in the car crash - and called Sakura.

"_Hi!" _she chirped, maybe a bit-too-brightly.

Naruto smiled. "Hey," he said. "Didja miss me?"

He held the phone away from his ear at the resulting _"OHMYGOD!"_

His grin was hurting his face at this point; Sakura started babbling, with, _"Oh god, okay, stay up, I'm coming down like, now, are you okay, well, okay duh, you just woke up from a coma but oh my god! Naruto!"_

"Me," he agreed, letting out a sigh of contentment. (_Ooooowww.)_

"_Okay. Give me like, twenty minutes. If I hurry I can catch the bus – okay, yeah. I'll see ya!"_

"See ya," he said, but she'd already hung up.

He put the phone on the bedside table. Jiraiya was talking to the doctor. Naruto shut his eyes. The morphine was taking effect; it was almost like there was a fog in his head. He could operate fine, but it was slower, lagging – kind of like being buzzed.

_Sasuke,_ he thought. _Sasuke was drunk. I was driving. Then –_

Well, not much. He didn't really remember anything after the whole "No-you're-drunk-I'm-driving" fight. He'd won it, though – like fuck he was letting Sasuke drive his baby, let alone _drunk._

Dimly, he wondered where Sasuke was. Probably in the same hospital, right? Or home, on bed rest – he'd gotten beaten up pretty badly, from what Naruto had heard.

"Is he asleep?"

Naruto's eyes flew open. "Sakura! Ow! _Ouch."_

Sakura had a hand over her mouth, eyes watering with tears – she wasn't crying, thank _god,_ just happy as hell. He was smiling too, so much that it hurt.

"Oh god," she whispered, then, "I'd hug you, but…"

"Yeah," Naruto agreed. "I mean, it only hurts when I breathe, so…"

"Oh, well if _that's_ the case," she said, perching on the edge of his bed. She went to take his hand, but it was bandaged, and IV stuck into the vein.

He grimaced. "They've got me all wired up, huh?"

"It was bad," she murmured, settling for patting his knee. "Really bad. Like…"

"Hey," he said. He would've taken her hand or something, had he not been in pain. "It's okay now, right? I'm okay, you're okay, and Sasuke's okay. Hey, where _is_ he, anyway?"

Sakura didn't respond, bit her lip, looked down.

Naruto swallowed. "Sakura? Sasuke…he _is_ okay, right?" In a desperate attempt to lighten the situation, he said, "Let's bring him in, we can have like, a hospital party!"

He watched as her entire expression changed. "Oh, _Naruto._"

Sasuke, it seemed, was decidedly not-okay.

.

**Thoughts? **


End file.
